


For A Good Time, Call...

by lumbeam



Series: Hotline AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (but he DOES have a sex drive), Awkward Conversations, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has No Genitalia, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Voice Kink, Watching, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: With deviancy comes feelings. Feelings that Connor didn't plan for. Feelings he needs to navigate.Thank rA9 for hotlines.--Or: the hankcon phone sex hotline AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by chats in the Big Bang 18 group, otherwise known as an AU manufacturing company. 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Connor became a deviant, he knew there would be certain things that would seep into his code. Anger, happiness, sadness, and all the emotions in between. He didn’t _plan_ for how to deal with them as they happened, but he just wished CyberLife or Kamski or _someone_ wrote a book for how to deal with emotions.

There were some emotions he couldn’t place.

It felt like there was this buzzing under his casing sometimes. The yearning to be touched, to be paid attention to. The desire to _touch_ someone. The need to be heard and cared for. He would remove the skin from his hands and interlock his fingers, creating an endless loop of interfacing. It didn’t help that _feeling_ inside.  
  
He finally asked Markus about it one day when they went for a walk in the park. After all, he was the one who pulled him into this state of being.  
  
“Do you ever just--” He began, then stopped to find the words. “Feel like you need to connect with someone?”  
  
Markus’ face broke into a smile. “What?”

“I can’t quite place it.” Connor clenched his hands into fists. “Do you ever just look at someone -- a human, an android, anyone -- and you want to bond with them?”  
  
His hand covering up his smile, Markus realized what kind of feeling he was describing. “Connor, I think what you’re feeling is sexual desire.”

“I was more thinking desire for physical intimacy.” Connor said thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Markus relaxed against the park bench, “same mood, different terms. Humans call it ‘being horny.’”   
  
Connor’s LED blinked a light yellow. “I...don’t know what to do. I can’t connect with other androids besides you and Simon. Everyone still sees me as the ‘deviant hunter.’ Even at work, the other police androids avoid me.”

Markus went silent for a moment, considering what Connor can do for this feeling. Then he remembered Leo once talking about a service for other lonely humans. “How would you feel about talking to other humans?”

“I talk to them all the time.” Connor said, not understanding Markus’ angle.  
  
“No, I mean on the phone. There are services to help you with these feelings.”  
  
“You mean a call center for androids who want to experience physical intimacy?” Connor was even more confused. Then again, after the Eden Club…

“I’ll try to find the name of the one Carl’s son was referencing. Well, maybe not _that_ one…” Markus thought out loud.  
  
Connor stood from the park bench and Markus followed. “Thank you for this.” He said sincerely.  
  
Markus held up his hands. “I haven’t done anything _just_ yet, so there’s no need to thank me.”  
  
They continued on their walk with Connor circling back around to the phone service every so often. The buzzing feeling under his chassis returned when it passed his mind.

At the end of their walk, Markus held out his arm for Connor to grab. “I found the number for it.” He retracted his skin as Connor linked up with him. This felt different, somehow. He was touching someone else, but he didn’t feel the satiated feeling that he’s been searching for for weeks now.

The number of the service popped up in his field of vision. “‘1-800-4NUT?’” Connor asked in a perplexed tone.  
  
Markus shrugged. “They don’t have any human-android connection services just yet. Sorry.”

“I...it’s okay. Thanks again.” Connor said, waving to Markus. The two went their separate ways.

\--

That night, Connor sat in his apartment. It was small and meant for androids, which meant there were no basic human amenities. Despite that, the rent was just as much as the human equivalent. Connor didn’t mind; he was just glad he had a place to live even if it was a plain high rise apartment.

He took off his tie and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on his shirt. Should he be comfortable for this? Should he strip down _more_ ? Connor thought of the workers at the Eden Club once again. Would him also getting down to his underwear inspire that certain feeling to come back?  
  
He stopped fussing and dialed the number through his Bluetooth-style call system.

After a couple of rings, a woman’s breathy voice greeted him. “Thank you for calling 1-800-4NUT, Detroit’s most trusted phonesex line! Please listen to the following options, as our staff has changed!”

Connor focused intently on the succulent across the room, needing to set his mind on something.

The woman continued. “For Johnny, press 1. For Stacey, press 2. For Michael, press 3. For Jenny, press 4. For Caleb, press 5. For Hank, press 6. For Anne, press 7. To hear the options over again, press 0.”

Connor made the motion for 0 to listen to the names again, despite remembering them all. The succulent plant became the most interesting thing as the name listing circled back around. He shuffled the data around in his head, eventually deciding to choose 6.

“One moment while I reach -- _Hank_.” The automated service’s voice changed with the name. Connor pressed the pads of his fingers into the fabric of the couch.

He heard a man clear his throat before he said, “Hi, this is Hank, how can I assist you in your wildest fantasies?” His voice sounded gruff and bored. Having heard him connecting a voice with a name, Connor curled his fingers into the couch more. “Hello? _Hello?_ Anyone there? Lousy piece of shit phone system --”

“Hi, I’m here.” Connor jumped in before Hank hung up.

“Ah, okay.” He sounded neutral on the fact that someone was actually on the line. “How can I help you tonight?”

Connor finally broke the one way staring contest with his plant. Strangely enough, he was so focused on just calling and choosing someone to talk to that he hadn’t imagined what would be good to say. “I...don’t know.” He said dumbly.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Normally when people call me, they uh, know exactly what they need to get over the finish line, if you know what I mean.”

Connor mostly knew what he meant. “What do people normally want?”  
  
Hank laughed at that question. “Look, guy, I can’t just immediately out my clients and their fetishes, okay? Let’s just start at square one. Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m not.”

“What, did you just call to talk? This ain’t that kind of service. I’m just here to help people come and move along with their lives.”  
  
Connor paused, trying to think of what to say.

“Are you normally this quiet?” He asked, voice still neutral.

“Quite the contrary. Most people complain I don’t stop talking.”

Hank laughed lowly, and the buzzing feeling came back around Connor’s chest. “Guess I _really_ have something special then.”

“I think I might have made a mistake. I apologize that I wasted your --”

He cuts him off. “No, nah, it’s fine. Maybe I can help you find what you want. Do you wanna tell me who you are?”

Connor decided that it’s time for the other shoe to drop. “My name is Connor, I’m an RK800 that was originally designed to--” He heard a loud crash on the line.

“ _Fuck,_ you’re an android!” Connor heard cacophonous laughter as Hank moved the phone away from him.

Connor closed his eyes and thought of the best way to answer this, fearing some kind of rejection. “Yes, I am.”

“And you need to come?” He asked incredulously. “Didn’t think androids needed this kind of _satisfaction_ …”

“I...well...” Connor found himself clamming up in telling this man all the details of what he’d been going through.

“Look, as amused as I am about this, you need to either come or get off the line. Most calls don’t normally take build up for this long, and this ain’t even foreplay.”  
  
Connor felt his internal temperature rise. Is this...embarrassment? _Shame_? He didn’t care for it. “I’m sorry that I called. Goodbye.” He ended the call just as he heard Hank start to say Connor’s name.  
  
\--  
  
“And you just hung up on him?” Markus asked after Connor explained the other night to him.

“I...I wasn’t sure what else to do. I didn’t know what to say to him.” Connor focused on the pigeons perched on the street lamps around the public square.

“Connor.” Markus started, his tone stern.  
  
“I know,” Connor responded, despite him not knowing.

“You don’t have to call him back, but...in order to connect with humans, you need to have uncomfortable conversations sometimes.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll give it a few days.”  
  
“That’s probably for the best.”  
  
“Then I can figure out what fetish to go for.”  
  
“... _What_?!”

\--

A few nights later, at the same time as last, Connor called 1-800-4NUT and chose option 6. He grabbed at his coin for stability, rolling it over his knuckles as the phone rang.  
  
Hank’s introduction was the same. “Hi, this is Hank, how can I assist you in your wildest fantasies?”

“Good evening, Hank.” Connor said confidently.

“ _Ahh_ , the android!” He said.

“I have a name, and it’s Connor.” He replied sternly.  
  
Hank laughed slightly at Connor’s snappy tone. “Oh, aren’t you a little brat? Well, I’m just going to have to bend you over--”

“What are you doing?” He cut in, perplexed by the role change.

“Oh, I thought you needed some _assistance_. Figured that’s why you haven’t called in a few days.”  
  
“It’s not that at all! I was just...figuring out what to say to you this time.”  
  
Hank made an amused sound. “S’that so? And what have you figured out?”  
  
Connor took a moment to process his train of thought. “I am mostly calling to apologize for how I acted a few days ago. If you would not mind, I’d prefer if we started off on the right foot.”

Connor heard Hank pull away from the phone. Then he heard a clink of ice cubes in a glass. A gulp. “Look, android--”

“ _Connor_.” He interjected.

“ _Connor_ , sorry. Ya didn’t hurt my feelings, but I’m glad ya called back. _Now_ , let’s start over. Completely over.” His voice got smoother, more velvety. Connor ran a thumb over his coin. “What’s going on down there?”  
  
“‘Down there?’” Connor repeated, adding some inflection on the second word.  
  
“Jesus, kid, do you have a dick or a pussy? What are you packing? _Anything?_ ”

Connor dug his thumb against the ridge of the coin. “I assure you, I’m not a child. I’m a fully grown --”  
  
“It’s a _generational_ thing, all right? I bet you look young anyway.”

Connor stored this information in his data reserves. Hank was an older gentleman. Noted. “Regardless, I do not currently have genitalia of any sort.”

Connor heard the clink of Hank’s drink again. “So what’s down there? _Nothing_?”

“Correct.”

“But you _could_ get somethin’ if you wanted to, huh?”  
  
“Correct.” Connor didn’t mean to repeat himself, but this was the first time considering _he_ would get some sort of upgrade. He knew CyberLife provided genitalia of all types, but it never crossed his mind. He knew the androids at The Eden Club were designed differently, but that was as far as his concept of human style genitalia went. Even with the buzzing that kept creeping up on him throughout his days.  
  
“Do me a favor, babe,” Hank instructed, and that pet name caused the buzzing under Connor’s chassis to start up again. “Just stick a hand down there. Touch where something would be.”  
  
Connor shimmied out of his dark wash jeans and tugged down his underwear. His slim fingers curled around the spot between his legs. “Okay, I am.”  
  
“You’re what? I want you to tell me what you're doing.” Hank made a groan, settling down in his seat. Connor heard the creak of the springs.

“I’m--” Connor tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m touching myself.”

“Ahh, is this your first time doing that?” He asked despite knowing the answer.

“...Yes.”

“How does it feel?”

“It feels…” He stopped speaking for a moment, pressing his fingers against his nothingness. What _did_ it feel like? “It feels...like I’m touching any other part of my body.”  
  
Hank made an indeterminate noise. Annoyance? Confusion? Curiosity? “You’re not getting any feeling out of it?”  
  
“Not quite.” Connor said, a little dejected. He traced his fingers around his pelvic area, looking down at the flesh-colored flatness.

“Then how the fuck can you feel horny?!” Hank asked in an annoyed tone.

“I--I don’t know!” He knew his LED was flickering between yellow and red. “I’m sorry.”

Hank sighed. “It’s not your fault, Connor. I just don’t know what to tell ya. I’ve never had issues with getting people off. Then again, you’re not really a _person_.”

Slightly frustrated and dejected, Connor pulled up his underwear and jeans. “I’m enough of a person to _want_ things, Hank.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know if I can fucking give you what you want. Talk to your android friends and figure out how to come.”

 _What friends?_ Thought Connor. Sure, there was Markus, and the core members of Jericho, but they still weren’t exactly helpful resources for navigating masturbation and sexuality. North would maybe be the closest one, but Connor wouldn’t _dare_ ask about her past at The Eden Club.

“I want--” The buzzing spread around his chest cavity. “I want you to help me.”  
  
Hank laughed. “ _What?_ ”

“This conversation, even though it didn’t serve its original purpose, has been the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know if I can talk to anyone else about something like this.” Connor grasped for his coin again, anxious to hear the response to this admission.  
  
There’s a long pause on the other side. For a second, Connor was worried Hank hung up on him. “ _Fuck_ , that’s...I’m not sure if I should be flattered or if I should pity you.” He made a thoughtful sound. “How ‘bout this. We’ll each do our homework, and you can call me tomorrow night. I’ll figure out how to make you _come_ , Connor.” Hank's voice growled, intensifying the buzzing under Connor's chassis.  
  
“You mean it?” Connor asked, his stress levels decreasing slowly.  
  
“Fuck yeah, ‘sides, what have I got to lose?” He laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO boy after nearly a month of working on the Hankcon Big Bang I am back with this story!! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“So whaddya got for me, my android friend?” Hank asked in a friendly tone. Connor wouldn’t necessarily call him a friend just yet, but he’s pleased that Hank thought so. Then again, Connor _was_ paying him, so…

“I don’t-- Well, I asked a couple of my friends for help.”

This was true. Earlier that day, after work, he met up over at Markus’ house (well, technically his human dad’s house) to hang out. North and Simon were also there, which made Connor’s question for _just_ Markus a little...tricky.

“How do you guys--ehm--how do you--I don’t know how to ask something like this, because it’s really not--” Connor started, hands fidgeting.  
  
“Connor,” Simon said, “slow down. What are you trying to ask us?”

“I don’t quite know how to...phrase it.” He shot a look over to Markus that pleaded _help me._

Markus, the saint, cut in. “What Connor is trying to ask is how we-- _service androids_ \--” He glanced at North who wanted no part of this conversation anyway, “Achieve _satisfaction_.”

“You want to know how to come.” North said, arms folded. She stared straight down at Connor. He felt his cheeks get hot.   
  
“For lack of a better term.” Connor muttered, his finger circling around the pattern in the luxurious couch cushion.

“Markus, Simon, go on. How do you _come_?” North asked, a smirk forming on her face.  
  
“Well I was going to go in more general terms, not like--”  
  
“Not like how _we specifically_ achieve orgasm.” Simon finished for Markus. They both pointedly looked away from each other.  
  
“Does it involve how a human would do it?” Connor asked, thoughts flashing back to last night.  
  
Markus shook his head. “For some androids, there’s a way of experiencing the same sensation by opening up your abdominal plating.” He vaguely gestured to his stomach.

Connor’s thirium regulator surged at that idea. Not excitedly; all he could think of was the dead Traci he had to reactivate.

Simon must have noticed Connor’s discomfort at that idea. “Well, for _others_ , not necessarily _me_ , of course, there’s a way to open up the panel on the back of your neck to achieve that. It all depends on your model.”  
  
Markus shrugged. “ _But_ , since you’re a prototype like me, it might take some time to explore.”

Connor nodded slowly, taking in the information.  
  
“Why do you want to know now, Connor?” North asked, sitting slightly forward now.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Markus answered for him. “Connor has a _friend_ that he calls.”

“‘A friend?’” North raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Yes, a human. He said he’s going to help me out with--” His LED switched from blue to yellow. “--This.”

North, having her own reservations about humans, bit her tongue. _He’s not going to learn anything from a_ human… She thought.

Markus and Simon smiled nicely at Connor, a little too long for comfort.  
  
After a moment, Connor said, “Can we please talk about something else? Anything is fine.” He had enough with talking about how to come for one day.

At least, until he called Hank.

“Ahh, so your robo-friends helped you out?” Hank seemed pleased by that answer. “How did they _teach_ you?” He put a lot of emphasis on the second to last word.

“They simply told me about different ways an android like me can achieve this sensation.” Connor replied, not fully understanding why Hank asked the question like that.  
  
“Connor, you’re not at work. You can say it however you’d like.”

“What I said was pretty accurate to what happened.”

Hank sighed loudly, shifting in his chair. No point in continuing down this road.

“Well, I’ve done some research myself.” He said. Connor heard the rustling of papers.

“What kind of research, Hank?”

“I printed off an android owners manual.” Hank shook the pages near his phone for proof. “I tried to only find the relevant topics, but...there’s at _least_ 200 pages here Con. Jesus, for humans it’s either rubbing or tugging. Didn’t realize I needed a phD in robotics to get you off…”

Connor felt his cheeks get hot at Hank’s exhaustion. “I could lead with the...session.”

“Just tell me _how_ you’ll be fiddling with your wires.” The rustling of paper started up again.

Connor sunk lower on his couch, lifting up his shirt. He was wearing his underclothes, feeling that his work attire would get in the way or get soiled. The skin on his hand melted away, causing his thoracic panel to open. He tried _desperately_ not to think of the Eden Club or the girl’s dead eyes. He looked down at his stomach, a mass of blue wires. Tentatively, he traced his white hand over the top ridges of the visible wires. A little spark formed, but nothing quite similar to the buzzing just yet.   
  
“I’ve opened up my stomach panel,” He said, distracted by his fingers running up and down the ridges of the wires. Connor heard the flipping of Hank’s manual.  
  
“Ah, I see now. The thor-acic panel?” He read awkwardly. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m just,” he ran his finger along the underside of a wire, shuddering a little at the feeling. “Touching the wires inside.”  
  
Hank made a thoughtful sound, almost like a groan. “That doing anything for ya?”

“Not quite.” He sighed.

“How about this, babe--can I call you babe?”

After a moment, Connor answered, “You can.” His thirium pump jumped in his chest slightly at the nickname.

“Babe, how about sticking your hand further down inside? It says here that ‘the abnormal amount of interference of a foreign object in the wires may trigger an unpleasant shock. Be sure to wear rubber gloves.’ No glove, no love, heh.” Hank laughed to himself.  
  
Despite the presence of the word ‘unpleasant’ (it was written _by_ humans, _for_ humans), Connor sunk his hand in a little deeper into the wires, down to his third knuckles. Nothing quite yet.

“How does that feel, babe?”

And just like that, it felt like Connor’s wires came _alive_.

“...Ah!” Connor gasped.

Hank laughed lowly, the gravelly sounds of his voice only adding to the sensation. “Oh, _Connor_ ,” he sighed, “I think we might have something here.”

Connor started to experiment with the different ways his wires could curl around his fingers. He looped a particularly large wire around his index finger and tugged downward slightly. The buzzing in his chest only increased. “D-don’t st-stop,” he stuttered to Hank.

He could hear Hank toss the manual to the side. “Yeah, just like that, babe. You’re doing _so good_.”   
  
Connor arched his back at the slight praise, hand deep in his stomach. He felt the slickness of thirium along the wires, but he kept his eyes shut. Shutting off protocols and warnings of a “foreign entity” in his torso, he dug his other hand into the couch cushion. “ _Hank_ ,” he breathed.

Hank brought his mouth really close to the phone speaker so Connor could hear every sound, every syllable, every word coming out of his mouth. “Yeah, baby, say my name. _God_ , I want to hear you come. Can you do that? Can you come for me, Connor?”

Connor’s toes curled as Hank said his name. “I-- _I_ \--” he strained, his voice muffled by static. The buzzing in his chest practically drowned out Hank’s words of encouragement.

“Go on, Connor. Let go.” Hank rumbled lowly, Connor nearly feeling his hot breath on his ear. He sunk his hand in deeper, grabbing a handful of wires and _tugged--_

The buzzing took over every square inch of his body, breaking down and reducing his being to ones and zeroes.

Connor’s vision went white.

The first thing he heard was Hank’s voice. “Connor! Hey, are you all right?”

He looked down at his hands. The skin projection came back on over his thirium colored hand. He was still here.  
  
“I just--” He closed his stomach panel. “I just had an orgasm.” He said, not quite believing those words, amazed that it could _actually_ happen.  
  
_And_ that a human was the one who got him there.

Hank laughed and whooped on the other end of the line. “ _Fuck_ yeah, Connor!”

“Should I say thank you in this instance?” Connor asked.

“Babe, you can say whatever you want.” He said proudly, mentally adding ‘I made a robot come’ on his list of achievements.

“I, um...Thank you, Hank.” He smiled, wiping his hand on his undershirt.

“Heh, you’re welcome. If you ever need ‘assistance,’ you know where to call.”  
  
“That I do. Good night, Hank.” He ended the call, his LED blinking yellow, then blue.

He got up from the couch, discarding his shirt along the way as he went to really clean off his hands. Even _walking_ felt different. The world felt more _vibrant_ this way. It was difficult to not just focus on ‘I had an orgasm, I had an orgasm’ as he scrubbed his hands and went through the proper protocols for the night time.

Part of him wanted to call Markus to fill him in on the details, but the more rational side of him decided to wait until tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow_ …

The next question for Markus is “how _often_ is too often?”

For both having an orgasm _and_ calling the hotline.

As he went into sleep mode, the sounds of Hank’s voice filled his head. “Babe.” Connor said out loud, cheeks warming at the nickname. He ignored the slight buzzing that returned when he said that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, after big bang: yeah, I can write some more
> 
> ENJOY!!!!

“How did last night go?” Markus asked as he and Connor walked through the city. It was a late fall day in Detroit. The leaves were hanging onto the trees, the upcoming winter be damned. Markus, despite not being affected by temperature, dressed for the weather. He was in a slate grey trench coat, stylish enough for even Connor to take notice. Connor felt under dressed in his checkered dress shirt and slacks, but Markus kept his critiques to himself.  
  
“It went--” Connor smiled as he thought about Hank coaxing him to climax, “ _Well_.”   
  
“Looks like it went _more_ than well. You’re blushing.” Markus smiled at Connor’s slight embarrassment in that fact. Connor put a hand to his warm face. He was right.  
  
“It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, Markus.” He kicked at an acorn on the ground, watching it tumble into the cracked sidewalk. “It was honestly _beyond_ words.”  
  
Markus’ eyebrows raised. “Wow, that good?”  
  
Connor looked behind him if there was anyone close enough to be listening.  
  
“He called me ‘babe.’ It was like...when I wanted it to happen, I was at _his_ mercy. It felt...good, handing myself over like that.” He continued in a lower voice.  
  
Markus thought back to his own times with Simon. “Yeah, it’s like that sometimes.”  
  
“ _You feel that too?!_ ” Connor asked excitedly, maybe a little too animated.  
  
Markus laughed at his outburst. He seemed like a completely different android. “Yeah, Connor, it feels good for everyone."  
  
They continued on their walk, watching the deep red leaves sway in the wind. “I was also wondering how often is too often.”  
  
Markus cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Well, you...when you first find out about it, you’ll want it to happen all the time.”  
  
“I don’t know if I want to do it alone just yet.” Connor admitted.  
  
“Why not? It’d be good for you. Figure out what _you_ like independent of your _friend_.” Markus patted Connor’s back gently.  
  
Another lull fell between them. “How are you and Simon? You two seemed embarrassed when I asked for advice yesterday.”  
  
Now it was Markus’ turn to blush. “That’s because it’s different to talk about intimate things when your partner is _right next to you_. You’ll understand that when you find someone.”  
  
Connor nodded, smiling slightly. “Maybe you’re right.”

\--  
  
One of Connor’s main holdovers from being a machine was the way he executed strict willpower. He held his tongue when people would get in his face, specifically Gavin Reed, and he remained calm and collected when examining a crime scene. He will probably never be one of those androids that can completely break free from his machine background. The deviant parts of his brain have started to gnaw away at the more rational parts, but Connor remained steadfast from getting into things without careful consideration.  
  
Masturbation, or whatever android version of it was called, had threatened to disrupt his strict routine.  
  
Throughout the day, _thoughts_ kept appearing in the back of his head.  
  
_If I take a five minute break from this casefile, I could call Hank and have him do all the talking while I--_  
  
_Reed’s really getting on my nerves, I could relieve some tens--_  
  
_I_ _managed_ _to_ _get_ _a_ _confession_ _out_ _of_ _a_ _perp_. _I_ _think_ _some_ _celebration_ _is_ _in-_ -  
  
_I hope this walk with Markus is almost done so I--_  
  
  
Needless to say, by the time he got home his fingers were shaking as he took off his clothing. He ended back on the couch, staring at the ceiling tiles. He opened his stomach panel, his fingertips lightly touching the ridges of the wires. I could call Hank, Connor thought, bringing up the number in his field of vision.  
  
“Figure out what _you_ like independent of your _friend_.” He heard Markus say in his head.  
  
Connor didn’t dial the number, instead removing the prompt and focusing on the feeling in the wires. He closed his eyes, trying _not_ to think of Hank.  
  
The only issue was…  
  
Connor didn’t know what got him off.  
  
Maybe I could just focus on the feeling . He thought, sinking his hands down further into his cavity. He tried what he did last night by looping his fingers around the wires, listening to the wet sounds of his thirium slick against his hand.  
  
After some maneuvering, the buzzing returned. Connor’s eyes shot open, excited he could do it on his own. Now was just a matter of _getting_ there.  
  
He returned back to watching his hand move through the wires. Seeing his blood coat his hand concerned him, but it didn’t deter him from getting into a rhythm.  
  
He maintained that buzzing feeling, but it never went through his system like last night. The rational parts of Connor’s mind were fighting with the deviant side. Against his better judgement, he pulled up the number for Hank’s line. On autopilot, he dialed 1-800-4NUT, selecting option 6.  
  
The dial tone sounded in his system. “C’mon, c’mon,” he whined impatiently.  
  
“I’m sorry!” A breathy voice moaned. “This caller cannot be reached at this time. If you would like, you could select--” Connor hung up, gritting his teeth.  
  
Frustrated, he dug his hand in _deeper_ , closer to his thirium pump. He felt the thrum of it as it regulated his blood flow. He shut his eyes, thinking of Hank’s voice.  
  
_“Oh, you need some help getting off, babe? Well just listen to my voice...”_  
  
It wasn’t the same as actually listening to Hank, despite Connor’s memory.  
  
Nevertheless, it did help in getting somewhere.  
  
_“Yeah, just like that. Keep going, Con. You’re doing so well.”_  
  
“Thank you,” Connor breathed out, not even realizing he vocalized it. He tugged at a thick coiled wire.  
  
_“Oh babe, come for me, please--”_  
  
Connor tensed up, the shock waves rolling over his system. “Ah!” He gasped lightly, careful not to make too much noise. His climax wasn’t as intense as last night’s, but it still took some time for Connor to return back to his proper rational self.  
  
Washing the blood off of his hands, Connor wondered why Hank couldn’t pick up. Connor doesn’t really know much about him despite their one-sided intimate nature.  
  
To replace any blood loss, Connor went to find a thirium pack in his bedside table. As he popped the cap, he felt his systems return to normal. His temperature readings lowered, as did his thirium pump. He felt like he didn’t _need_ to get off again for a while. It was almost kind of relieving.

\--  
  
Connor put off his desires to get off for three days.   
  
It’s not like he was pointedly _ignoring_ his impulses; the case he got wrapped up in at work sapped him of his mind wandering. It’s the most he stayed on task since he was a “Deviant Hunter.” Any time there was a chance of the vibrating returning in his chest, he refocused his attention on the case.

Now, with the culprit caught and the paperwork signed off and approved, Connor had time to relax.   
  
Relax, as in actually go back to his apartment.  
  
As in actually get off.  
  
As in _finally_ call Hank again.

He took a taxi back to his apartment, wringing his hands tensely.  
  
This time when he arrived back at his apartment, he didn’t _immediately_ strip down. He bided his time and busied himself. He washed off the three day grime on his chassis, changed into his lounge clothes, watered his plant, read a book for some time. It was a deliberate process mostly to show _himself_ that he had self-control. He wasn’t controlled by carnal instincts. Nope, not at all.

With that being said, he dialed the number for the hotline in his system in record time. He chose option 6. After two dial tones, he heard the usual greeting: “Hi, this is Hank, how can I assist you in your wildest fantasies?”

“Good evening, Hank.” Connor answered, perfectly poised.  
  
“ _Ah_ , Connor.” Hank sighed, sounding pleased to hear his voice. “I was starting to worry that you forgot about me.”

“Quite the contrary. I actually called you a few nights ago. You didn’t answer.” Connor tried his hardest not to sound crestfallen.

There’s a pause as Hank seemed to think back to _why_ he missed that call. “ _Oh,_ now I remember. Sorry, it was a personal issue.” His voice sounded rough as he said that phrase. Connor decided not to push the issue, but made a note to remember it for later.  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be the one who’s sorry. _I’m_ sorry I couldn’t help you come.” A beat. “That _was_ why you called, right?”

Connor pressed his fingers against his fluffy bathrobe. Although he couldn’t feel temperature, he could certainly feel softness. “Yes. I’ll have to admit that it was quite difficult without your ‘help.’”  
  
“Well I’m sorry, Connor. Really, I am.” Hank sounded genuine. Connor heard him take a sip of something, then set the glass down. “I’m here now though, so I hope I can make it up to you.”

Connor smiled, embarrassed by his blush despite Hank not seeing it. “I think you can.”  
  
“Right, so--” Hank leaned back in his chair. “How do you want to do this? Do you want me to talk you through it as I did last time?”

Connor untied his bathrobe, letting his hands run down his slight frame. “I feel like I should tell you that your praises helped me through climaxing when you weren’t available.”

Hank laughed at this admission. “I knew you would like being complimented like a fuckin’ teacher’s pet. Sure, I’ll guide you through it. Tell me what you’re doing first.”

“I’m on my couch, in my pajamas.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Hank groaned, “and are they soft?”  
  
“It’s just the CyberLife issued boxers and an undershirt.” Connor stated, still not sure why Hank was asking of the softness. “My bathrobe is soft."

Hank chuckled slightly. “Of _course_ you would have a bathrobe. You’re a high-class android, aren’t you Con?”

“CyberLife would say I’m _priceless_.” Kind of a lie, but he rolled with it.

“Well then, I feel so honored you’d trust me to instruct you like this.” Connor could tell Hank was smiling. It made him comfortable to think about Hank smiling at him, whatever he looked like. “You know, since you’re so _fancy_ and shiny. I want you to start touching yourself.”

Connor did as he was told, pulling off his bathrobe and hiking up his shirt. He opened his chassis with a _hiss._  
  
“Wait, wait, don’t go digging in your wires just yet, babe. It’s not a race.”

Connor furrowed his brows. “I thought you didn’t want people to take their time, Hank.”

A pause. Connor’s right. Hank needed to keep the same rules for _all_ his customers, even androids. “...You’re right. Go on then, start touching yourself.”

It was a relief for Connor to put his hand in again, feeling right at home hearing Hank’s voice. He ignored all directives and increased his sensitivity up to thirty percent. “Okay, I am.”

“Good, good. Keep going just like that.”

Connor focused on the words of encouragement. “I’m glad I’m doing well, Hank.” Connor said with some difficulty.

“ _Shh_ , baby, just keep touching yourself.” Connor could hear Hank lean forward in his chair, the springs compressing.

Connor fiddled with his wires, making soft noises.

“Don’t be afraid to make some noise for me. I want to know how it is for you.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed, he raised his voice a little, making his moans more audible for the other line.  
  
Hank groaned lowly. “ _There we go_. You got both hands in ya?” Connor heard a drink being poured.

“Just _one_ \--” Connor grunted, his hand full of wires. He wrapped his fingers around them tighter.

“Do something for me, Con. Try two hands.” Hank took a gulp of his drink, loud in Connor’s sound receptors.

He glanced down at his other hand, gripping the side of the couch cushion. His grasp on the fabric lessened and he took away his skin projection from his other hand. Unfurling his hand from the tangle of wires, he put his other hand inside.

Whatever feelings he felt from first touching himself melted away as soon as his fingertips brushed against the other side of his wires. “ _Ah!_ ” Connor yelped, voice distorted.

“There you go, baby. I _love_ hearing you get yourself off.” Hank purred.

Connor twitched around his wires, the micro-movements of his fingers enough to render him incapacitated.

“Ah! _Hank_!” Connor groaned.

“ _Good boy_.”

“N-not a boy--”

Hank scoffed against the receiver. “Fine, _good man_.”

“N-not a-- _mm_ \--” Connor pressed his fingers against the same wire, stopping his train of thought. He dug his heels into the edge of the couch. “ _Ahh!_ ”

“Get yourself off, baby.” Hank growled.

It felt like something in him exploded. He remembered yelling some form of obscenity beyond his programming. His internal temperature felt too hot. Steam was rising out of his open panel. He was surprised he didn’t blow a fuse in his system.

Hank’s voice sunk back into his head. “God, it’s pretty fucking rare I make someone come like _that_. Are you okay? I’d hate to have to pay your android hospital bill.”

Connor sat up slowly, closing up his chassis. “I’m...more than okay, Hank.” He looked down at his stained blue hands. “Just messy.”

Hank laughed. “That’s pretty normal, though.  
  
”He got up and made his way to the bathroom sink. His “bathroom” consisted of a standing shower and a sink. Bare minimum for androids. Turning on the water, he said, “Hey Hank?”

“Yeah?” Hank gulped down the rest of his drink.

“Do you...feel anything when you do this?”

“You mean do I get hard?”

“For lack of a better term.” Connor squirted some liquid soap onto his hands.  
  
He made a thoughtful sound. “...Sometimes.”  
  
He didn’t elaborate any further, much to Connor’s chagrin.

Connor rinsed the thirium off of his hands. “That’s a shame.”

“Ehh, it doesn’t bother me that much. I don’t really do it for my own satisfaction.”  
  
He dried off his hands on a lush towel. His tactile sensibilities once again. “Why _do_ you do it?”

“Jesus, what’s with all the questions? You get curious after coming?”

“It seems to be that way,” Connor said with a slight smile.

“Well, ‘sides the money, I guess I just do it for fun. It passes the time.”

Connor hummed, not quite believing him. “I see.”

“Are twenty questions over, or do you want to go for round two?”

“I’m good, thank you. I guess I’ll hang up now.”

“Okay, Con. Good night.” Hank sounded a little sad.

“Good night, Hank.”

As Connor put his pajamas back on and grabbed his fluffy robe, he thought about Hank’s answers. Mostly, he focused on how he said he only got aroused _sometimes_. It boggled Connor’s mind. How is it that someone can assist in getting people off at a nightly basis _not_ be aroused by their fantasies? Connor sat up in bed, pondering what Hank even likes if his arousal is that infrequent.

The more nonsensical part of Connor’s brain wondered if Hank thought about him or if his calls were included in the “sometimes” category. His thirium regulator beat faster at the idea.  
  
He stayed up later that night, mind distracted by Hank. He wondered if Hank spent his night the inverse way.  
  
Irrationally, he hoped it was the case.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: haha, there's no way i'm writing another chapter tonight
> 
> also me: :) oh yeah?

Hank cranked death metal through his car’s shitty stereo until his blood was pounding in his ears.  
  
It was a shitty day at the billing department. His prick of a boss ( _younger_ than him, which only made it worse) blamed him for something he didn’t do. Didn’t carry the zero over, or some shit like that. It was obviously Jerry’s fault; Hank’s been working in the department long enough to be able to process payments with his eyes closed. He’s a _supervisor_ , after all. Jerry’s just an underling. Why did he always have to eat crow so people could continue to work there another day?  
  
He gripped the steering wheel, wanting to slam his car into the automatic car in front of him. He doesn’t, although thinking about it calmed him down a bit. Another traffic jam in Detroit after working a nine hour day. Living the dream.  
  
After thirty minutes of stop-and-start traffic (the _worst_ kind of traffic), Hank made it home. He stepped out of his car with a groan. His dog, Sumo, must have either heard the groan or his car, because he was inside the house barking up a storm. “All _right_ , all right!” Hank called out, opening the door.  
  
Sumo was there to greet him with an excessively wagging tail and a slobbery mouth. “ _Yes yes,_ I missed you too, boy. Go out and do your business, all right?”

Despite not being trained, Sumo plodded out of the house and did just that. Hank kept the front door open to allow Sumo to come back inside. In the meantime, he poured some dry food into his bowl. Hank checked the time in the kitchen. It was twelve minutes fast, a weird thing he never bothered to fix, but he saw it was actually almost 6:30. He had to get on the phone at 8. Since it was a Thursday night, it was a longer “shift” for him. Four hours of helping people get off. Hank didn’t mind it; he would be up anyway. Might as well make some money off of it, even if it’s just beer money.

Speaking of.

Hank went to his fridge and got a beer. Some shitty lager he picked up at the store because he was feeling festive. A weird holdover on pumpkin-flavored garbage. He cracked it open, sucking it down as he perused what food he had. Leftovers, leftovers gone bad, soured milk, eggs (only one)... Christ, he really needed to go to the store. He checked the time again. It was too close to when he’d need to be on the line. Sighing, he grabbed a container of the leftover lo mein he ordered from two days ago. He nuked it for about two minutes until the sauce was bubbling. Taking his sub-par leftovers to the living room, he turned on his fancy TV to catch highlights from the game last night. The fancy TV, Hank remembered, was one of the first things he bought with his “hotline money.” Well, in part with his measly Christmas bonus, but it still _counted._

Hank wasted his time until 8 pm rolled around. He turned on his “work” phone (he figured he needed two phones in case any weirdos would call him ‘off hours’) and waited for the calls to roll in. He had a few regulars, mostly people who were looking for the same things each time they called. In the way that Hank got used to the ‘scripts’ that people wanted, he knew when he could do certain chores or activities in the meantime.  
  
At 8:24, he got his first call for the night. “Hey, Jay.” He said, pacing around his apartment. This guy, Jason, used his fifteen minute break to call Hank once a week. Hank never bothered to ask about where he worked, mostly because he didn’t care. “How can I assist?”

“Punish me,” Jason panted. Hank heard the distinct sound of skin on skin.

“Ah, you wanna be punished, huh? You’ve been a bad boy.” Hank said. He looked over his bookshelf with disinterest.  
  
“Oh, _god_ , I have!”

“What’s the magic word, then? I hope you didn’t forget your manners.”

“P-please!” He sounded close. _This will be a cinch,_ Hank thought.

Hank cupped his hand around the receiver, whispering. “I want you to fuckin’ bend over. Let me really make you wish you behaved.”

“Agh, _fuck_ \--” Jason gulped, panting.  
  
“Only I can fucking swear, you hear that? Do you want this cock?” Hank wiped a finger over the dust on his shelf. Maybe he could work with going through his books for the evening...

“Please! Pleaseplease _please_ give me your _cock_ \--”

Hank laughed lowly. “You’re going to come, aren’t--” Jason’s moans cut him off. “Never mind.”

“Sssorry,” he whined, embarrassed.  
  
“It’s okay, Jay. Get cleaned up, get back to fuckin’ work.”

“...yes, sir.” The line went dead.  
  
“Huh.” Hank looked at the duration of the call. Under five minutes. He normally liked to use up every minute of his break.

The next couple of hours went through a pattern of chores and menial tasks. At 8:50, he alphabetized his books as he groaned, “Ah, _fuck_ , princess, you got me so _hard--_ ”

At 9:32, he took Sumo out again. “Excuse me, sir. I’m a park ranger and I _definitely_ saw you littering. Well...maybe we can work something out--”

At 10:06, he started a crossword puzzle. “Ooh, _yeah_ , I’m right there with you. Yeah, I’m about to come _too_ \--” _18 down,_ Hank thought, drawing loops in the margin with his chewed-up pen. _Another word for “excessive?” Hmm…_

At 10:37, he gave up on his crossword puzzle. He flipped through the channels, groaning into the receiver. (This regular had a thing for moans. It gave Hank a break.)

Around 11, he wondered when his android friend would call.  
  
Hank tried to treat him like all his other customers. It was difficult, though, since he was...well, an android. And he has exclusively made him _come_ . How many other phone sex operators can boast that? Despite Connor’s game of “how many personal questions can I ask” a couple of nights ago, Hank couldn’t help but have some fondness for him.  
  
That, and it was pretty easy getting him off, since he was only _now_ exploring his sexuality and what gets his proverbial gears turning. The toughest part about Connor was printing off the CyberLife manual at his workplace. Thank _fuck_ his boss took the day off when he printed off the book. Otherwise, he probably would have taken a chunk out of his paycheck to pay for some toner, the _prick_ \--

Hank got up to get another beer. As he opened the can with a refreshing _kr-cka,_  he heard his phone ringing. He hurried to his phone, beer foaming over the top a little. He answered the call as he slurped up the foam from the top.

“ _FFFffffsssss_ \--Hi this is Hank, how can I--”

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Hank?” Sure enough, there he was. Endlessly curious for the dumbest reasons.

Hank swallowed the foam. “No, no, not at all, Connor.” He took a seat in his well-worn armchair. It creaked as he sat down.   
  
“I tried calling earlier, but I think you were busy. I hope this isn’t too late to be calling.”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s been so _busy_ tonight,” Hank lied. “Tonight’s my late night, though. You’re fine.”  
  
“Good to know.” Connor said.

Hank took a gulp of his beer, then set down the can. “So,” he sighed. “How do you want to do this? The usual?”

“No, I was--Have we been doing this long enough to have a usual?”

Heh, _we._ How cute. “For me, maybe. You’re a frequent caller, Con.”

“I don’t know if I would call it ‘frequent.’”

“Fuckin’ whatever. Who cares. How do ya wanna do this? Do you want me to encourage you while you tangle your wires?”

There was a pause on Connor’s end. “...I was thinking.”

 _Oh boy_ . “Go on then. What have you been thinking about in your robot brain?”  
  
“Not a robot.” Connor quickly corrected, then immediately refocused to his original topic. “The last time we talked, you mentioned that you only ‘sometimes’ achieve arousal when talking with your clients."

“Oh _Christ_ ,” Hank groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. It was cool from the beer’s condensation. “What, do you want me to tell you all the times I’ve gotten hard from this job?”

Connor made a thoughtful noise. “Not quite.”

Hank’s stomach flipped over, then twisted in on itself. He waited for a response from Connor.

“I want to help you out.”

Hank laughed nervously. “No, no, no, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

“I _want_ to.” His voice sounded so sure.

Hank was at a loss for words. Not _once_ in his fiftysomething years has he had to deal with an android that wanted to make him come. He felt his face get hot.

“I taught you about android sexuality,” Connor explained plainly. That was not entirely true, and Connor knew it, but he pressed on. “So I think it would only be fair if you taught me about human sexuality.”

Hank laughed some more to fill the dead air. He had _no idea_ what to do. “Connor, that’s--I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?"

“Look, y-you just--you just learned about being horny and having orgasms, what, like two weeks ago? That’s too fast for someone to jump into, into--” Hank ran out of steam. “ _This_.”

Connor said nothing for a while.

“I mean, do you at least get where I’m coming from?” Hank huffed.

“I don’t.” He stated.

“I don’t--I don’t _need_ to get off. I don’t call other people for their help. This service doesn’t work like that.”

“You’re more than just a service for me, Hank.”   
  
The sincerity in his voice was almost enough for Hank to jump off a bridge.

“Connor.” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Either you get off or you hang up. It’s not a two way street.”

“...I see.” Connor kept his composure in his response.

“So what’ll it be?” Hank asked.

“I think I’m going to hang up. I can’t say I need to climax.”

“Okay then.” Hank grunted out. “Night, Connor.”

“Good night, Hank.”

Hank pressed the “end call” button, then dropped his phone on the floor. “ _Goddamnit_.” He rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. “ _Fuck!_ ” Sumo woke up to see what was wrong.

“Sorry boy, go back to bed.” Hank suddenly felt very tired as well.

The remaining half hour only had one other caller. Hank would be lying if he said he wasn’t distracted during it, and not in the usual way. The customer didn’t seem to notice; they still got off as they always did.

As soon as the clock struck midnight, Hank shut off his work phone. He dragged his feet as he went into the bathroom to shower.  
  
He scrubbed his skin until it was red, trying to wash away the embarrassment.

He toweled off afterwards. After pulling on a clean t shirt and some faded boxers, he crawled into bed. Absentmindedly, he scrolled through his phone, checking up on current events. His eyelids felt heavy trying to concentrate on the page, so he threw his phone to the other side of the bed.

He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t.  
  
_“You’re more than a service to me, Hank.”_

Hank groaned. _Why_ did he have to say that? More importantly, _why_ did Hank react that way? He wasn’t sure who was more wrong. Connor was too forthcoming, Hank was too closed off.  
  
Were either of them wrong?

Why was Hank so resistant to someone offering even a sliver of care? It was different than when his customers would ask if Hank was also about to come at the same time, but...to only ask to get Hank off? Connor doesn’t understand the selfishness of humans, clearly.  
  
And yet…  
  
_“I want to help you out.”_

Hank realized that he’s probably the first ( _only_?) human Connor’s had feelings for. Even base feelings, like sexual feelings. This doesn’t make Hank’s reaction any better.

_“I want to.”_

“Fuck,” Hank groaned. Against his better judgement and planning, he was hard thinking about all of this. The first night after they talked, Hank looked up what an RK800 model looked like. It was... _he_ was beautiful. Hank was surprised he’d need help like _this_. Especially from someone like Hank. _Hank_ , some interchangeable pencil pusher in his office. An android like _Connor_ wanted to get _Hank_ off.

_“I want to.”_

Hank started to stroke himself despite his brain yelling at him to stop. He had an entire can of worms that he had opened in his thoughts, but his body gave into simpler needs. Hank chased the feeling.

_“I want to.”_

Hank imagined the conversation going differently. He wondered what Connor would say to get him off. Even just moaning would be enough, if Hank was being honest with himself.

Honesty felt weird to him, especially with his hand pumping away while he was thinking of Connor.  
  
He came shortly after, thinking of Connor saying his name. Hank tugged off his shirt (not clean anymore) and cleaned off his hand. He threw it towards the hamper in his room, out of his mind.

Hank finally passed out for the night, forgetting all about what happened in the past five minutes. In the past hour. In the past few days.


	5. Chapter 5

After the call with Hank, life continued as before.   
  
He focused intensely at work, sometimes working overtime to solve some of the cold cases in the DPD’s backlog. He spent a few nights at the office, slipping into sleep mode for some much needed system updates. His plant at home suffered for this; it ended up drying up by the third night. Since it’s nearly impossible to kill a succulent, Connor gave it some much-needed water. He’d read that it was also important to talk to plants to help them grow, but since he didn’t have a respiratory system, it was kind of pointless to do it. He did it anyway.

And, in taking care of his little plant, Connor saw the obvious metaphor.

He knew there was an imbalance in his life. He couldn’t focus on one aspect of his life without everything else collapsing. He couldn’t stay home digging through his wires, but he also couldn’t put all of his effort into trying to solve every crime. There had to be a balance.

The phone call with Hank happened more than a week ago.

It wasn’t like Connor was _mad_ at Hank. Not that at all. He tried not to think of the awkwardness of their previous conversation. He’d overstepped his boundaries as a client. Connor decided it was best to leave that alone for now.

Still, he did miss Hank’s voice. The easygoing warmth that filled Connor’s sound receptors. His laugh. The way he made him feel right as he was about to come. Connor hadn’t masturbated since then. He’d been ignoring the feeling in his chest that happened when Hank passed his mind.

Connor ran a finger over one of the plant’s leaves. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, but he couldn’t decide _who_ he was apologizing to.

There was a knock on his door.

He can’t remember the last time he had visitors. His apartment was too small for any get togethers. Maybe it was one of his neighbors giving him his mail, or something. Then again, Connor never got mail. He turned away from his plant and checked through the peephole first. Markus and North.

He undid the lock and opened the door. They both looked happy to see him. 

  
“Nice to know you’re not dead, Connor.” North said with a smirk. “Would you want to take a walk with us?”

“It’s a nice day out. The sun won’t be setting for another forty minutes.” Markus jumped in before Connor could think of an excuse.

Connor turned back around at his plant. He couldn’t use that as a reason to not go. “I--okay.” Connor nodded, fumbling to get his shoes on.

\--

The two of them were right. It _was_ a nice day out. As of late, Connor hadn’t had the chance to see Markus or North. Too busy with his self-appointed busy schedule. It was nice having some free time to walk with them.

They walked in silence until North nudged Markus to talk. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Connor glanced over at Markus. “I’ve been incredibly busy at work investigating cold cases. It’s been difficult to have some time--”

North cut him off. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

Connor’s proverbial gears shift to that part of his life. He tried not to think of Hank when he said, “Not really.”

“Oh, not even your _friend_?” Markus asked.

Not wanting to say “I wanted to make my phonesex friend come and it backfired immensely,” Connor lied and said, “My schedule hasn’t allowed me to call when he’s working.”

North made a satisfied sound. “Interesting.”

Normally not too slow on the upkeep, Connor realized _why_ they wanted to go on a walk. “Do you...have someone for me to meet?” He asked cautiously.

Markus smiled and said. “Only if you’d like to meet them. We figured you’d like to start dating since you know how to, well--”

“Since you know how to come.” North said bluntly. Maybe a little too loud for their surroundings.   
  
“Right,” Markus said, laughing slightly. “Aren’t you curious about having an in-person connection with someone?”

He thought about Hank as he nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be serious.” North placated. “It’s just a date.”

Connor took a moment to think. He looked down the street to see couples holding hands, talking and laughing. The buzzing sparked up in his chest again, but it was different this time. It was a _longing_ for something else. Turning his eyes away from the couples and back to North and Markus, he asked “Are they a human or an android?” A valid question.

“An android!” North chimed in.   
  
“Even though you and I work with a lot of humans, I don’t have any of them in my roster that would be an...appropriate option.” Markus explained.   
  
“Is the android a male or a female?”

“Does it matter to you?” North asked curiously. She wasn’t sure if Connor’s sexuality was that well in place yet for him to have a preference.

“I’m just asking. What’s their name?”

“Well,” Markus started. “ _Her_ name is April.”

“Like the month?” Connor asked. He knew that _could_ be a name, but he’d never met a month-named android.

He laughed slightly. “Yes, like the month. She works at a shoe department at the Tower Center mall now.”

“I first met her in Jericho.” North said, explaining her connection with April. “I ran into her the other day and we got to talking and...I mentioned you, and--”

“And you set up a date.” Connor finished.

“Not yet, only if you oblige.” Markus said. “Here’s a picture of her.” He held up his hand and a holographic image of her came up. April had almond-colored skin and dark hair pulled up into a smooth bun. She had faint dark freckles across her cheeks. She was cute, Connor decided.

After some time, Markus put his hand down. “So, what do you think?”

“I--well-- _okay_.” Connor said, feeling his cheeks get hot.

North did a little bunny hop as she cheered. “I’m going to give you her contact information.” She held out her forearm for Connor to take it. As the data uploaded to his system, his eyelids fluttered.

Once they released their grip, Markus wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulder. “It’s just a date, but I’m happy for you.”

“Me too!” North said, wrapping an arm around Connor’s other side.

Connor, pressed between his two friends, finally started to think this might be a good idea.  
  
\--

This was _not_ a good idea.   
  
His date with April was _tonight_ and he was worried. The previous day, Markus took him clothes shopping, stocking up on smart cable knit sweaters and tweed pants. He even lent Connor his slate grey coat for tonight. Such an eye for coats.

As he buttoned up his plaid shirt, he thought about talking points. The weather? Work? Hobbies? Connor has been programmed with a small talk program, so it won’t be too hard, but if this date works out…

He felt his thirium pump pick up in speed. Was it nervousness or fear?

He and April arranged to meet up outside the movie theater. They wanted to watch something light hearted, and then maybe go for a walk in the park. It’ll be dark, but with the Christmas lights adorning the lamp posts, it will hopefully be manageable. The last thing Connor wanted was for her to be afraid for her safety.

He pulled a cream colored wool sweater over his shirt. Running a hand through his hair, he took one last look in the mirror. He nodded, approving of what he saw. Connor grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.   
  
He sent April a message. _Good evening, April. I’m on my way. ETA 15 mins._  
  
He got a response five minutes later. _Okay! I’m running a little behind, so you’ll beat me there first._

Connor made a face. He always prided himself on punctuality, but he shouldn’t let that be a deal breaker.

As he got on the subway to go downtown, he received another message. _Hey, I’m sorry! I’ll probably be like 10 mins late! Traffic is really bad._   
_  
No problem, we’ll have plenty of time still to catch a movie._

The two of them didn’t message each other a whole lot. Connor figured it’d be better for to talk in person. He stepped off the subway, making his way down to the plaza. It was a Friday night, so plenty of people were out. A mass of glowing LEDs and phone screens among the Christmas decorations adorning the city. It was almost kind of poetic, seeing everything like this. Connor smiled slightly, weaving through the crowd to the front of the theater.

He checked the digital clock outside of the building. 7:29. Perfectly punctual, as always. He stood with his hands behind his back, watching people walk by. He scanned the crowd to see if April might be here yet. Unsurprisingly, not yet. He determined her arrival time will be 7:39.

 _That’s fine_ , thought Connor. _It’s only now nine minutes away._ He resisted sending her a message. No point in stressing her out.

Sure enough, by 7:40 he saw April approaching him. She was dressed for the weather as well in a dusty pink wool coat. Her hair was in a low ponytail, synthetic strands in front of her face. “Connor?” She called out, walking to him. When she got close, she froze for a moment. Only a moment, not long enough for most humans _or_ androids to detect. Connor, however, wasn’t most androids.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, unclasping his hands from behind his back.

She brushed her hair out of her face. “Oh, it’s nothing. Would you like to go in?”  
  
Connor smiled. He pulled a door open for her.   
  
“I’m so _sorry_ I’m late. I drove here, or, well my auto car did. I didn’t realize it’d be so packed.”

“The roads certainly seem to be busy at this time of year.”

“They do!” She agreed. The two of them stop and look at the marquee sign above the concessions. “What would you like to see?”

Connor remembered what North told him. _“Let her choose.”_ “Oh, whatever you’d like.”

“Hm.” April was silent for a moment as she looked at the titles. She looked for an incredibly long time. Then she turned to Connor and said, “Maybe we should go for a walk first, get to know each other better?”

Connor nodded, pushing the door open for her again.

\--

The two of them walked around the nearby park. Just as Connor suspected, it was well-lit enough for them to feel safe. Well, for April to feel safe. Their shoes crunched over the dead leaves for a while. April seemed preoccupied, and Connor was preoccupied with April’s preoccupation.

“You work at the Detroit Police Department?” She finally asked.

“I do. I got hired as a homicide detective earlier this year.”

“Why would you--” She took a moment to think about the phrasing. “You feel comfortable in your position?”

Connor nodded, “Yes, I feel that I’ve more than proven myself as a worthy employee.”

April didn’t say anything for a while.

“You were the ‘deviant hunter,’ before that.” She stated.

Connor knew that’s why she hesitated when she first saw him. “Until Markus got through to me.”

April didn’t seem satisfied by that answer. “How do you know you won’t...turn back?”

“You mean go back to being a machine?”  
  
“...Yeah.”

Connor, trying not to be defensive, countered with, “How do you know you won’t stop being a deviant?”

“I just know I won’t.” She looked at him as if she’d never even thought of it before.

“And I just know I won’t. I like being a deviant. I like _feeling_ things.”

April kicked a pile of leaves. She was back to being quiet.

Having enough awareness of how androids behave, Connor asked, “Why did you agree to go on this date if you knew I was the ‘deviant hunter?’”

“I wasn’t sure when North told me.” She shoved her hands in her pockets as if she was cold. “She quickly showed a picture of you, but I only got a glimpse.”

“It’s just what I was programmed to do. You were programmed to--”

“Yes, but I was a sales android. I wasn’t programmed to _kill_ people and round up my own kind.” She turned to Connor, stopping him in his tracks.

Connor understood. Even though it hurt, he understood her anger. This title followed him around like a big neon light. A sign that said “I’m dangerous and not in the fun way.” She searched his face, and despite being met with a soft expression, she reacted to him as if he was about to kill her.

“I...think I should be going now.” She said after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll walk you to your car--” He took a step towards her.

“No, no. That’s okay.” She turned away from him, walking out of the park briskly.   
  
Connor watched until she was out of his line of vision, then he also made his way out of the park.

\--

On the subway, he sent a message to both North and Markus. _Please don’t set me up on any more dates for a while._

He ignored the messages of _what happened?_ And _I’m sorry, Connor!!_ As he got to his stop.

In only a few minutes, he was back in his apartment. His small apartment. Trying not to feel closed in, he threw his coat on the couch. He fell into bed and kicked off his shoes. Normally, he’s not this careless and messy. He stared up at the ceiling, frustrated by how the date went. His reputation, as usual, preceded him. He needed someone that didn’t think he’d all of a sudden revert back to being a cold-blooded killing machine.

He needed--

He dialed the number. Hank should still be on the line. He pressed 6.

“Hi, this is Hank, how can I assist in your--”

“Hank, it’s Connor.” His politeness seemed to be shot. A warm feeling spread through his body.

“It’s been a while, Connor. How’ve you been?” Hank asked, picking up on the edge in Connor’s tone.

“Not...great.” He said, eyes fixated on the stark white ceiling tiles. He absentmindedly unbuttoned and buttoned the top button on his shirt.

“ _Ahh_ ,” Hank understood. “You wanna talk about it, or you wanna ignore it and get off?”

“I...would like to talk about it, if that’s allowed. I don’t really know who else to talk to.”

“S’been a slow night anyway,” Hank reasoned. It’s really been a slow _two weeks_ without talking to Connor, but he refrained from letting him know that. “What happened?”

Connor furrowed his brows. “I went on a date tonight. My friends set it up.”

“Connor, you should have called me _before_ your date.”

He paused. “I don’t follow.”

“That’s the rule. Ya jerk off before you go on a date. Less nerves. I could have made you _really_ calm.”

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t the issue. My date recognized me for how I was before becoming--”

“--becoming a horny little android?” Hank asked, chuckling slightly.

Despite his sour mood, he smirked. “Something like that.” He didn’t want to ruin two instances of connection tonight, so he stopped himself from mentioning what he was programmed to do. “She seemed _scared_ of me, Hank.”

“I can’t imagine why _anyone_ would ever be scared of you.” He said. “You’re too cute to be scary.”

Connor paused. _Hank thinks I’m cute?_ “How do--did you look me up?”

Hank laughed. “I couldn’t help it, Con. I had to know who I was _assisting_.”

A buzzing feeling returned. He decided to indulge himself. “What about me makes you think I’m cute?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about your shitty date?”

“It lasted barely fifteen minutes. She figured out who I was and ran from me.”

Hank scoffed. “I doubt she ran from you.”

“It was close enough to a run.” Connor changed his train of thought to before. “Why do you think I’m cute, Hank?”

“Heh, if it was any other night, I wouldn’t do this. But I can tell you need a pick-me-up.” _And I missed talking to you, you weirdo._ Hank didn’t say the second part. “Why do I think you’re attractive? Well--”

Connor sat up in bed, unbuttoned his shirt and tugged down his pants. He listened to Hank making thoughtful sounds with bated breath. He heard Hank take a gulp of his drink. Liquid courage?

“After we talked, well, not the first time, but the second time--it was after I promised to help you. I remembered your model number _somehow_ and I looked you up. Your eyes were the first things that got me. Feel like I could confess anything to you.”

Connor ran a hand down his torso. Groaning slightly, he asked, “What else?”  
  
“Jesus, Connor, you want me to go through _everything_?”

“Please, Hank?” Connor pleaded. “It’s been so long.”

“So long since--” Hank stopped his question. “Uh, and well. Your moles. It makes me wonder where else they are. And, and, your _mouth_ \--”

“What about my mouth, Hank?” Connor closed his eyes, opening his chest panel. He couldn’t believe how long it’s been.   
  
“Fuck, I--I--” Hank laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I should say it.”

“It’s just me, Hank. You can tell me.” Connor said smoothly. He tentatively stuck his fingers inside.

Hank groaned. “God I would just _love_ to see your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Connor’s eyes shot open. He'd nearly ripped out the wiring in his system.  
  
“Fuck, Con, I’m--I’m sorry, that was too much, I didn’t--”

“No, Hank,” Connor sighed, “Please continue.”

Sounding embarrassed, Hank continued. “And, and I’d love to see your tongue swirling around the tip--” He breathed heavily into the phone.

Connor felt his wires get hot under him. It felt different this time, but very much welcomed. “What,” he gasped, “what else would you do?”

“I’d-- _ah_ _fuck_ \--” Hank groaned, “I’d have you suck me off, then I’d play with your wires. I’d--I’d make you feel _so good._ ”

Biting down a moan, Connor had to know. “Hank, are you--touching--”

“Yes, babe,” Hank answered before the question was over. “I am. I really _fucking_ am--”

Just that alone, the concept of the two of them masturbating _because_ of the other, was enough for Connor to climax. It almost caught him by surprise.

Like two dominoes, Hank followed shortly after. His voice was heavy in Connor’s sound receptors, the moans serving almost like aftershocks of Connor’s orgasm.

The two of them didn’t speak for a moment. Hank was the first to break. “Holy _fuck._ ”

Connor sat up, closing his panel. “My sentiments exactly.”

“I wasn’t planning for that, _Jesus_ \--” Hank set the phone down for a moment, probably to clean up.

Connor did the same, staying on the line.

“Connor?” Hank asked over the sound of rushing water. “I hope I didn’t, uh, overstep my boundaries or anything--”

“No, not at all.” Connor smiled. “It was good.”

Hank breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, glad to hear it.”

Connor checked the call time. Nearly twenty minutes. “This call has lasted as long as my date, but it was twice as enjoyable.”  
  
Laughing, Hank asked, “Only _twice_ as enjoyable? I’ll have to do better next time.”

“Maybe twice is a little low,” Connor agreed, though his pump sped up at the idea of a _next time_.

“Anyway, I need to let ya go. More customers to assist n’ all that.”   
  
“I understand. Good night, Hank.”

Connor wiped off his hands and crawled back into bed. He found himself staring back up at the ceiling, a smile still on his face from talking to Hank. Eventually, he activated his sleep mode and closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some discussion/musings of death in this chapter; gavin reed

“I just realized I don’t know what you look like.”

Hank snorted, cleaning off his hands and stomach with a paper towel. It had been a stressful day at the office; Derek, his prick of a boss, reamed him out for being three minutes late. (Why the fuck did it matter? He was salaried anyway.) By the time Connor called him at the usual time, he already had his hand shoved down his pants, begging for release. “Oh _really_? You ‘just’ realized this? Thought you androids were more observant than that.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “...Fine. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. Could you describe how you look?”

Hank sighed, getting up from his armchair. As he made his way to the bathroom, he tried to think of ways for how to deflect this. He loved and hated all of these questions from Connor. He might be one of the most nosey clients Hank has had. Deep down, Hank relished the attention, not that he would ever say it. “What do you _think_ I look like?” Hank turned on the faucet to wash his hands.

“Well,” Connor began, “I can tell you’re older.”  
  
“How do you figure?”

“Disregarding the fact that you called me ‘kid’ once -- I know, it’s a ‘generational’ thing,” he explained before Hank could jump back in, “You seem to groan a lot when you sit down and get up from your chair. My guess, and forgive me if I’m off base, is that you’re middle-aged. Maybe fifty or so, I’d say.”

Hank dried off his hands, the phone propped between his head and his shoulder. If he really wanted to be an asshole, he’d start to slow clap, but Connor might not understand the sarcasm. “Way to go. What else?”

“I think, since you’re around fifty, you have grey hair. Would that be accurate to say?”

Hank scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Not really one to dye my hair.” Hank absentmindedly ran a hand through his wiry locks. He meandered into the kitchen.

Connor made a pleased sound over the phone. Always striving for accuracy, this one. “You’ve probably gone... _softer_ in your age.”

“Oh, you mean I’m fat?” Hank asked in a pseudo offended tone. “Didn’t think androids could judge humans like this--”

“No, no!” Connor said quickly. “What I just mean is--”

Hank laughed. “Re- _lax,_  Connor. You’re not wrong.” He ran a hand over the slope of his gut. He’s certainly not comfortable with his physique, but the post-orgasm glow hadn’t worn off just yet.

“I can also tell you like to drink.” Connor said confidently, “Maybe whiskey?”

“How the fuck--” Hank started, then pulled back his aggression. “Why do you say that?”

“I can hear the clinks of the ice cubes when you take a drink.”

“How do you know it’s not water?”  
  
“The way you sigh into the phone after you take a drink makes me think it’s something stronger.” There was a pause between them. “Well, then again, I _am_ just an android. I could be wrong.” Connor countered, despite the tone in his voice implying he’s anything _but_ wrong.  
  
Hank scratched his beard. “Y’know, normally on a phone sex line, when someone asks someone else what they _think_ they look like, it’s normally more like ‘I can tell you’ve got a big dick, nice ass’ or whatever.”

Connor paused as he processed the information. “...That could also be the case too.”  
  
Hank laughed loudly, waking up Sumo in the living room. “Oh _Christ_ Connor!” He heard awkward chuckles coming from the speaker, and Hank’s heart swelled a little. “Okay, well since you’ve _deduced_ so many things ‘bout me, what’s your conclusion, Sherlock?”

“I think--” He said, voice small. “I think I’d like to get to know you more.”

Hank’s heart dropped to his ass. “What?”

“I mean! It--It doesn’t have to be a date!” He babbled, “I--you know how that’s gone for me--” He started to talk with fewer and fewer gaps, like a record speeding up.

“ _Connor_ ,” Hank said sternly. He stopped right in his tracks. “What _exactly_ do you mean?”

There was a long pause, long enough that Hank checked the call time on his phone to make sure Connor was still there. “I would like to have your personal number.”

Now, this has happened before. Hank tried not to play favorites with his clients, and sometimes they got a little too _attached_. Sure, there were a few clients where he thought about getting to know more, maybe having something spring out of their strange “relationship,” but Hank luckily had enough self control to turn them down.

Hank inhaled, then exhaled.

“I feel it would be more cost effective for me.” Connor interjected. “There are times where I want to just talk to you, and nothing more than--”

“Okay.” Hank cut in.

“You--you’re sure?”

Thing was, Hank _wasn’t_ sure. However, an android seemed more viable to not turn into a stalker or someone that would key Hank’s car (not that he had experience with _that_ ). Sure, he’d heard about androids going deviant, killing humans. But Connor’s deviant, and all it seemed to happen with him is that he got horny. It was the safest choice.

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure.”

\--

Hank woke up when his alarm went off, although he stayed in bed for another ten minutes. Using his willpower, he waited for three minutes before he checked his phone. Sure enough, there was a message from Connor, sent an hour after they were done talking. Hank was fast asleep by that point.

 _Hello Hank,_ the message read. _It’s Connor._

Hank laughed as he sat up in bed a little. Who _else_ could it possibly be? Adjusting his eyes to the brightness of the screen, he texted Connor back.

_Hey con_

Short, sweet, to the point.

Almost immediately, he got a response back.

_Good morning._

Hank pulled up his phone’s keyboard. _You’re up early_

_I don’t need sleep. But yes, I am out of stasis._

Hank smiled, typing a _youre just up early to say good morning._

Getting up out of bed, he went to the bathroom.

His phone pinged. _Maybe you’re right._

  
\--

Later that day, in the bullpen, Connor was constructing a message for Hank. The two of them had been texting on and off for most of the morning. Now it was Hank’s turn to play twenty questions. Due to how Hank just….was, his texting was pretty fragmented. The most recent question, _what do you even do for work_ , warranted some thought and processing.

~~_I work at the Detroit Police Department, as I was designed by CyberLife to hunt --_ ~~

~~_I’m a detective working in homicide--_ ~~

~~_I’m a police android--_ ~~

_I am a criminal investigator at the Detroit Police Department,_ he finally decided.

After a few minutes, he got a response. _Oh a police android. You deal with like murders and stuff_

Connor started another message. _Yes, although before that--_  
  
Gavin Reed, his partner, kicked at Connor’s chair. “Hey, tincan! Did you hear me?”

Connor closed his messages. “My apologies, I didn’t. Could you repeat it again?”

He rolled his eyes. “What, were you having a malfunction or something? _So_ glad the DPD hired fuckin’ androids even when they’re breaking down…”

He shook his head, sitting on Connor’s desk. A couple case files fell to the floor. Connor kept his attention on them as he said, “No, I was reporting to CyberLife about--”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t fucking care. I was saying there was a murder that happened near the Detroit mall. C’mon, get your purse or whatever.”

Connor looked at Gavin quizzically. “I don’t need a purse.”

Gavin groaned, making his way for the door, not checking if Connor was behind him.

\--  
  
  
Hank kept checking his phone in between typing up spreadsheets.   
  
It’s not that he necessarily _cared_ , no not at all. He was more excited to hear about Connor opening up. Just getting to know him. Casually.

There had to have been a reason why Connor stopped texting him so abruptly. Hank saw the three dots in his message app disappear. He kept unlocking his phone, making sure he didn’t miss anything. He needed to get a grip, and he knew it.

“Anderson!” A voice called behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was his boss. _Great_.

Hank spun around in his computer chair. “Afternoon, Derek.” He said, barely hiding his annoyance.  
  
“Hey, Hank.” Derek sipped his coffee. Decaf, probably. “Nice shirt.”

Hank looked down at his wild printed shirt. He knew he didn’t actually mean that.  
  
“Noticed you’ve been on your phone a lot today. There an emergency at home?”

Hank felt his cheeks get warm. “Not exactly.”

Taking another sip of his coffee, Derek says, “Well, you know we have a pretty strict phone policy.”

Hank put his phone in his desk drawer. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Well, just keep that in mind moving forward. Hey, you get my email about the meeting later?”

“Sure did,” lied Hank.

Derek lightly slaps him on the shoulder as if the two of them were friends. “Great, I’ll touch base with you before it starts.”

Hank feigned a smile until Derek turned away from him, then made a scowl. He opened the desk drawer slightly, checking his phone. Still nothing. Hank sighed and opened up his email, checking to see what his prick boss sent him.

\--

Connor was lost in thought.  
  
Reed was speeding down back streets, butt rock blaring. Connor, on the other hand, was practically astral projecting, wanting to be anywhere but in this car. He opened his messaging program, but halted.  
  
“What do we know about the murder?” Connor shouted over the music. In the past, he tried to adjust the volume of the radio, but that only earned him a literal slap on the wrist.

“Beats me!” Gavin yelled back. “Happened within the past hour, some chump taking out the trash!”

Connor looked out the car window. “In broad daylight?”

He shrugged. “No witnesses, no nothing!”

Connor got out his coin, rolling it over his knuckles. A murder in the day? In a public place? Could be some Red Ice dealers, but Connor refrained from jumping to conclusions.

When they arrived at the scene, the officers had already roped off the crime scene. There was a mass of people at the edge of the yellow tape. Gavin flashed his badge and shoved his way through. “All right, people, show’s over, get the fuck out of here!”

The victim was slumped over, back leaning against the dumpster. Connor did a face scan of the body. _Jason Reynolds, 28. Previous charge(s): Red Ice possession, 2037._ Two shots in the stomach. Connor relayed the information to Gavin.  
  
“My records indicate he had a drug charge the year before.” Connor stated, kneeling close to the body. Flies have begun to swirl around Jeremy’s pale skin. “Do you think his murder had something to do with Red Ice?”  
  
Gavin laughed humorlessly. “Of _course_ it has to deal with Red Ice. Seems like this poor fuck was ambushed.”

Connor, using his reconstruction program, examined what probably happened less than an hour ago. A wire frame figure was facing away from where the suspect shot him. _Bang_ , he turned around, _bang_. _Slump_. The locations of the bullet wounds indicate when the turn happened. “It’s very likely that the suspect knew the victim worked here, and got him when he least expected it.” Connor stood, facing Gavin.

“Maybe this Jason guy didn’t pay whomever shot him.”

Connor looks down near the victim’s feet, finding a shell casing. After analyzing it, he located the stores in that sold this particular brand of bullet. Too many to narrow it down.

Gavin slipped on some rubber gloves, searching the victim’s pockets. “See if he has anything…” He muttered.  
  
Connor looked down the narrow alley, searching for footprints of any sort. No such luck.  
  
Gavin called out to Connor. “I found a scrap piece of paper with some number on it.”

“What kind of number?” Connor called back.

Gavin, laughing, read out the number. “1-800-4NUT! Our Jason here was a pervert!”

Connor felt his thirium pump quicken. “I don’t think that’s relevant to our investigation.”

“The name ‘Hank’ is scrawled under it!” Gavin cackled. He pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked, his feet picking up as he hurried over to Gavin.

“Just giving this ‘Hank’ a call, maybe he has something to do with--”

Without thinking, Connor knocked the phone out of Gavin’s hand. It fell, face down, onto the concrete.

“What the _fuck_ did you do that for!” Gavin yelled, shoving Connor roughly. He stumbled back, catching himself on the brick wall.

“What--what you’re doing isn’t vital to the investigation and you know it.” Connor said, vocal component shaking a little.

Gavin picked up his phone, screen cracked completely across it. “You owe me a new fucking phone, you plastic prick.”

Connor held his stare, thankful that Hank didn’t get roped into this. “Were there any other cards or notes in the wallet?” He asked with his usual professionalism.

Gavin clenched his jaw, glancing down at the wallet in his hand. “Yeah, his ID’s in here. Let’s go to the address.”

Connor nodded. As they walked out of the crime scene, passing off the duties to the officers to call in the clean-up crew, Connor said, “I’m sorry about your phone. If you’d like, we could go in the mall and I could buy you a new one.” He flashed Gavin a crooked smile.

Gavin gave him another shove, slightly less forceful this time. “Maybe after this case.” Then, he whispered, “Fuckin’ asshole...”

 

\--

 

After suffering through one of Derek’s bullshit pep talk meetings, Hank checked the time. Fifteen minutes until quitting time. He could make it. Resisting the urge to check his phone, he instead played solitaire to waste the scant minutes of the day away.

Finally, _mercifully_ , it was time to go. Hank all but ran out of the office. When he got to his car, he pulled out his phone. _Nothing_ .  
  
Hank groaned. He couldn’t believe he was getting all twisted up over an _android_. He felt like a teenager again, waiting for a response from a girl he asked out. Only this time around it seemed a lot more frustrating.

Hank tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. Smoothing his static-ridden hair down ( _fucking winter_ ), he made his way home.

Tonight was his long night on the phone, and he didn’t think he had to tell Connor that. Hell, with the way Connor was, he might as well be his secretary. He tried valiantly not to chase that thought down, instead deciding upon what to do for dinner. Going through the Rolodex of his mind, cycling through what ingredients he has, Hank decided upon spaghetti.

He pointedly didn’t look at his phone, instead forcing himself to immediately get started on dinner. Waiting for the water to boil, he got out a shitty beer from the fridge. Hank took a swig of the watered down flavor, still relaxed by the taste. Felt like home.

He heard his phone ring. For a split second he thought it was his other “work” phone, but instead he saw who was calling.

 _Connor_.

Exhaling slightly, Hank answered in a way that didn’t sound like he was waiting by his phone all day. “Evening,” he said, sipping away at his beer.  
  
“Hi Hank,” Connor greeted, and his voice was even more relaxing than the taste of Hank’s beer. “My apologies for not messaging you back earlier.”  
  
“S’alright,” Hank said casually. “Though for a second there I thought you stood me up.”

“No, not like that at all. I had a case today--”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Hank said, mouth full of beer. “That so?”

“Yeah. I--Do you happen to know a Jason Reynolds?”

Hank nearly dropped his beer. His regular. Hank was expecting him to call tonight. “What’s it to you?”

“I don’t know how to say this--” Connor started.

Hank swallowed thickly. “Say what?”

“Jason was murdered this afternoon. It appears it was over Red Ice.”

Hank rested against the edge of the sink. “Jesus Christ.” Then, after processing for a moment, he asked, “How’d you know I knew him?”

“Your name and the hotline was in his wallet.” Connor explained, a little detached. “My partner tried to call the number, but I managed to stop him before that happened.”

Laughing despite the situation, Hank muttered, “What an asshole.”

“I just thought I should tell you.” Connor said. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Course I’ll be fine.” Hank scoffed, “He was just a customer.”

“All right, Hank. I’m still at work. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk tonight.”

“Okay, Con. Don’t work too hard.”

Hank could hear Connor laugh slightly. “Good night, Hank.”

The boiling water bubbled over in the pot.

Hank took off the lid and threw his dry pasta in.

He wasn’t sure _how_ to feel. He’s never had a client die before. Well, if they had, Hank wasn’t aware of it. It wasn’t uncommon for people to just…stop calling. Jason, now, that was a consistent client. For the past few months, Hank helped him get off plenty of times, not extending their relationship further than that. It worked for them. A nice familiarity that Hank was used to. Deep down, deep _deep_ down, Hank felt some guilt that he didn’t know more about Jason. He’d probably spent, oh, five hours cumulatively with him via phone, but he knew very little. Hank hoped Jason had some family that would --

Hank felt a pang of sadness in his gut.

He poured the hot water out, then mixed some sauce with the spaghetti.

If Hank were to drop dead, would anyone be notified? Maybe his ex-wife, although she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. Sumo would care, although Hank tried not to think about his carcass becoming a meal for his dog. Would his customers care, or would they just call someone else to get off?

Would _Connor_ care?

Hank sighed as he spun his fork around his pasta.

A couple years of doing this side gig and what did he have to show for it besides a big screen television? He started this _thing_ , loathe as he is to admit it, to keep the post-divorce loneliness at bay. And, hey, with a voice like _his_ , might as well get people off.

But now, at fifty-fucking-three and very much _not_ bothered by the divorce (not at _all_ ), Hank wanted something else.

He wanted. He _wanted_ \--

Hank set down his fork and pulled out his phone. Without thinking of anything else, he sent a message to Connor.

_Wanna go on a date?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say THANK YOU for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc that everyone has left on this story! :) Enjoy!

_Wanna go on a date?_

Hank’s message flashed in Connor’s vision. He and Gavin had just talked to Jason’s mother, first informing her that her son was killed and then asking if her son had any known enemies or issues. Reed left this “sentimental bullshit” to Connor, who was careful in his wording to not offend Mrs. Reynolds. She didn’t seem to be too surprised, saying “It was going to catch up with him eventually.” Unfortunately, all she really knew was the bar Jason frequented. It was still something. They were heading back to his car when he got the message. As he disregarded the text from his view, he was greeted with Gavin staring back at him. He was a few strides ahead of him, walking along the gravel driveway of the Reynolds house. Connor must have stopped in his tracks, focusing on the text.

“The fuck’s gotten into you?” Gavin asked, his breath visible. He crossed his arms, watching Connor. “You’ve been even more weird than normal.”

Connor shook his head. “No, it’s nothing. Cyber--”

“Don’t start with that CyberLife bullshit again. You already used that excuse today. Now what _really_ is it, you plastic fuck?”

Connor’s LED, proving to be a traitorous mood ring, spun yellow. He looked away from Gavin. “I was--” He paused for a beat, deciding upon another lie. “I had a slight malfunction. I’ve been troubleshooting it all day.”

Gavin scoffed. “Maybe if I’m lucky you’ll be sent back to the factory. C’mon, let’s go to this bar and see what we can find.” He clicked his key fob, unlocking his car.

Connor, still keeping a conscious motion to actually _walk_ , opened up his messages.  
  
_I would like that very much, Hank._

\--

Hank didn’t check his phone until after his “shift.” It was a typical Thursday night, save for Jason not calling. A few regulars, desiring the same scenarios. All sorts of different kinks that Hank could rattle away at without even so much as blushing. Even for the new callers, it was pretty easy for him to settle into his role, completely detaching from the filthiness of his words. Tonight he focused on dusting his house, slightly amazed with himself he can keep up a ruse of sounding into it. Not once tonight did he become aroused, probably because--

He checked his personal phone. Sure enough, he got a text from Connor where he agreed to the date. Hank’s stomach twisted at the confirmation. “‘I’d like that very much, Hank.’” He read to himself. His anxiety had worn off some from earlier. Of course, those feelings of loneliness and dread were still there, buried once more, so he didn’t feel as urgent about developing something with someone.

Hank, after dumping out the rest of his liquor into the sink, lumbered off to the shower. As he waited for the water to heat up, he took off his lounge clothes. In his peripherals he could see his reflection in the mirror, framed by bright post-its. The messages on the paper contained bullshit aphorisms, like “today is a new day,” and “you look great.” Hank couldn’t bear to take them down, a remaining shred of his past life. He tried not to look directly into the bathroom mirror. He was just thankful it wasn’t full-length because his heart couldn’t take it. The water was still lukewarm. More waiting. Hank finally gave in and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t a surprising sight, just a disappointing one. He looked at his curtain of grey hair, then tucked the locks behind his ears. Once his hair was pulled away, he could only see an old man staring back at him. The years of wear showing all too much on his face, partially ( _t_ _hankfully_ ) covered by his scraggly beard. He ran a rough hand down his face, swearing softly. Almost as if he forgot, he said to himself, “Oh _fuck_ , I’m going on a date.”

The mirror got steamed up shortly after that.

\--

  
Finding Jason’s killer was pretty simple. Connor and Gavin stepped into the seedy bar and flashed their badges. That was all it took for one tweaky fuck to make a run for it out the back door. “Chase after him, Terminator!” Gavin yelled, shoving Connor forward towards the man’s direction. Despite being a junkie, he was fast.

Connor made way, keeping his gun in his holster. “Don’t make me use excessive force!” He yelled, gaining on the man. The man didn’t listen, climbing up a chain link fence with the agility of an alley cat. Connor followed suit, scaling the fence slightly faster than the suspect. Despite what he wanted, Connor pulled out his gun from his holster. He unlocked the safety. “Stop running or I will shoot!”

“Fuck off, ‘droid!” The man yelled, not slowing down. Connor raised his gun, steadied his aim, and shot the man in the leg. The suspect fell to the ground, shrieking in pain. “You--mother--fuck--”

Just as Connor was about the recite the man’s Miranda rights, Gavin took control. “I got it from here, RoboCop.”

Connor safely put his gun away, following Gavin to the man. He was bleeding into the dead field grass, but it wasn’t a fatal wound. He scanned the perp’s face. _Benjamin Foster, 32. Nickname: Hound Dog. Previous conviction(s): Assault with a deadly weapon, 2034. Possession of Red Ice, 2035. Possession w/ intent to sell, 2037. Parole violation, 2039._  
  
“Pretty sure this is our guy,” Connor informed Gavin. He didn’t seem impressed by Connor’s deduction.  
  
Gavin, after reciting the rights and cuffing Benjamin, ordered, “Call a fuckin’ ambulance, will ya?”

Once an ambulance picked up the perp (with police cruisers in tow), Gavin turned to Connor. “He’ll probably need surgery. We’ll interrogate him tomorrow. Might be easier to get a confession out of him once he’s zonked on pain meds.”

Ignoring the questionable legality of that, Connor said, “We can hold him for parole violation. I can’t imagine it will be hard to get him to tell us what happened.”

Gavin rubbed at his nose. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m fuckin’ beat. I’ll let the Captain know we got him.” He turned back to the direction of where he parked, not sparing another word with Connor (who, to be honest, was going to ask him for a ride).

He figured he could start to fill up a file, being that it’s well past midnight. It’s not like he could--

 _I have a date,_  Connor thought. His thirium pump sped up in its beating.

\--

Early the next morning, in the hospital waiting room, Connor sent Hank a text. _When would you like to schedule our date?_ For a split second, he debated asking whether or not Hank still even _wanted_ to go on the date, but Connor didn’t let doubt creep in. 

Connor checked his internal clock. Just after 7 am. Hank should be up in the next half hour.  
  
Gavin entered through the main doors. He looked tired as hell, drinking coffee as if it were his lifeline. “C’mon, plastic. Back with me.” Connor held his tongue, getting up and following Reed. “Have you heard anything from the other officers?”

Connor shook his head. “No, it seems that he was on a lot of painkillers last night.”

“ _F_ _uck_ ,” Gavin said, taking a gulp of his coffee. “Well I hope that he’s conscious for us. It’s a Friday, after all. Don’t wanna work overtime for this asshole.”

They made their way to the elevator. As Connor pushed the up button, he turned to ask, “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

He scoffed into his Styrofoam cup. “What’s it to you, you askin’ me out?”

Connor grimaced at the thought of going on a date with Gavin. He’d rather have ten of the same dates with April than go out on one date with _him._ “Absolutely not, detective. I’m just making conversation.” He paused for a beat. “Although now that you mention it--”

“Fuck _off_ , tincan. I have taste.”

“No no, that’s not what--” The elevator doors dinged, and Connor stopped talking. A couple doctors walked out, loudly discussing last night’s Detroit Gears game. It wasn’t until that he and Gavin were in the elevator alone that he started talking again. “What do you normally do on a date?”

Gavin polished off his cup of coffee. “Buddy, you’re asking the _wrong_ fucking guy for this.”

“Do you not go on many dates?”

“I do _perfectly fine_ , thank you.” He said defensively. “I just don’t go on...traditional dates.”

“What do you _do_ , then?”

Gavin gave him a look, and that was all that Connor needed to know. “Why, did you bribe someone to go on a date with you?”

Connor was quiet for a moment. He figured that was enough talking about his personal life for one day. “I’m just making conversation, detective.” He said again. The elevator doors opened.

\--

_When would you like to schedule our date?_

Hank checked his phone as soon as he opened his eyes. It was an incredibly bad habit, but he had many a bad habit. What’s one more?

Well, it was good that Connor was moving forward with the date. For once Hank put himself out there and he didn’t suffer the consequences. He tapped away at his phone’s keyboard, deleting and retyping his reply.  
  
_Would this saturday be too short notice?_

Send, wait.  
  
As Hank got up to go take a morning piss, he heard his phone go off. The siren call of the toilet outweighed his phone addiction.  
  
After doing his business and flushing the toilet, he went to wash his hands. Again was the vision of an old man in his mirror. Christ, he looked rough. Like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. That was quite the contrary, surprisingly. The more pertinent issue was that he was just...old. His eyes trailed away from his reflection and down to one of the post-it notes. “Today is a new day.” Despite the corniness, Hank smiled lightly. He heard his phone go off again.

 _I’m working on an interrogation right now, but I don’t think it will extend beyond today._  
_  
I’ll let you know._

Hank wondered if it was Jason’s killer that Connor was questioning. His stomach lurched sympathetically. He tossed his phone on his bed, deciding against sending an _ok_ text.  

\--

Benjamin wasn’t particularly a tough nut to crack.  
  
He was still a little drowsy from the medication, but lucid enough to talk to Gavin and Connor. He rattled at his handcuff on the hospital bed, trying to slip his hand out. It only took a few questions to get him to start talking.  
  
“Man, Jay didn’t pay me back for _weeks_ .” He spat, fully believing it was his right to kill him. “He kept skimming some of _my_ cut.”

“Why do you think he would do that?” Connor asked, sitting next to the bed. Gavin remained standing on the other side, arms crossed.  
  
Benjamin shook his head, picking at a space in his teeth. His mouth was typical that of a Red Ice user. “He started using it to pay for this fuckin’...some phone jackoff service.”

Gavin laughed. “Yeah, we saw that number in his wallet. _1-800-4NUT_ , Jesus Christ…”

Connor concentrated on Benjamin, pressing his fingertips into the fabric of the chair.

“He kept telling me, ‘No, I didn’t take any! There was just less business this week!’ What the _fuck_ ever.”

“How much did he take from your cut each week?” Connor asked. It couldn’t have been a lot.  
  
“Forty bucks.”

“How long had this been going on?”

Ben shrugged. “Six weeks, maybe longer.”

Doing the quick math, Connor said. “You killed your friend and ‘business partner’ for two hundred and forty bucks?”

“That money fucking adds up over time, man. I’d do it again too.”

Gavin and Connor look at each other. A confession. Now they can officially throw the book at him. “Benjamin Foster, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jason Reynolds.” Gavin said, uncrossing his arms. “After you’re out of the hospital, you’ll find a new home back at the Detroit prison.” He smirked at Connor, who stood over the bed. He didn’t share the same amount of enthusiasm.

They notified the officers on staff of the update, then made their way back to the elevator. “Thank _fucking God_ he confessed so quickly. I’d hate to spend another second with Icemouth.”

Connor kept his attention on the floor numbers ticking down.

“I saw you cage up when he mentioned that sexline.” Gavin said smugly. Connor continued to look up at the numbers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, detective.”

“Don’t ‘detective’ me! Stop playing dumb! You’ve been weird about this case ever since you found out about the hotline. I mean, _fuck_ , you broke my phone over it! Which you still need to reimburse me for, by the way.”

“The hotline didn’t pertain to the case. Yes, Jason spent money on it, but it’s not illegal. There’s no point in ruining a man’s life over one of their clients getting murdered.” He kept his voice level as he explained his reasoning despite his thirum pump practically rattling in his chest.

Gavin laughed humorlessly. “You seem to care about humans all of a sudden.”

The elevator doors opened. Connor looked back at Gavin as he walked out. “ _Someone_ has to in this partnership.”

“Oh fuck you!” Gavin called out, weaving through the hallway to catch up to Connor. “C’mon, you’re paying for my new phone _now_.”

“Lead the way, detective.” He pulled up his messages as he followed Gavin out of the hospital.

\--

_This Saturday will be perfect, Hank._

Hank checked his phone around lunchtime, chomping away at a salad he bought from the cafeteria. He decided, for _once_ , to eat a salad, but he just hoped that this won’t mean he’ll be gnawing his arm off come 3 pm. His heart beat faster at the text, an equal amount of excitement and nervousness.

He wiped off his hands, used to eating messier foods, and typed a message back.

First  
  
_What would you like to do_

Then,

_I know androids don’t eat so_

And

_I guess dinner is out of the question._

Hank didn’t send anything after that for fear of seeming too clingy.

Less than a minute later, he got a response.

_Whatever you would like to do. I don’t mind.  
_

Hank groaned quietly to not disturb the other employees in the cafeteria. What a kiss of death for ideas. There was nothing worse than Hank making the decisions. Hank tried to think of a venue that would be good to get to know him better. No restaurants, no confectionery treats. Movies are definitely out. He thought hard to think of what he and his ex-wife did on dates. All he could think of was movies and going out to eat. Was he just boring or is that just an incredibly common idea? All of this was only exacerbated by Connor being, well, a different species.  
  
_I’ll get back to you on that._ He sent. Hank stabbed at his mediocre salad, wracking his brain to come up with ideas.  
  
\--  
  
Connor called Markus after he got out of the station. “Hello, Markus, are you busy?”

There was a swish of water on the other end. Markus was probably painting. “Hi Connor. I’m just working on something, but you can come over. Simon will be over shortly as well.”

Connor trotted off to the subway. The more upscale part of Detroit was quite a few stops down. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

When he arrived at the Manfred estate, the door opened for him. “Welcome, Connor,” the tinny speaker said as he walked in. He was greeted with the usual opulence. A little too garish for his tastes, but he never said anything to either Markus or Carl. Connor made his way to the art studio. Classical music was playing on the paint-splattered jukebox (Carl was a traditionalist, certainly), echoing in the large room. Markus was painting a still life of the scene outside, made only more difficult with the setting sun. Simon was also next to Markus, although he was haphazardly sketching one of the trees. It was too daunting a task for him to do an entire scene.

“Hi Connor,” Markus said, not looking up from his canvas. He seemed to be almost done with his painting, so Connor sat uncomfortably on one of the stools near the window, watching the Winter sunset. “How was work?”

Connor shrugged, glancing at Markus and Simon. “Pretty ordinary. I got a confession out of a suspect that I shot in the leg yesterday.”

“I’d _love_ to have your kind of ordinary.” Simon piped up.

“By all means, the DPD is always looking to hire more androids.” He didn’t _mean_ for that to sound sarcastic, but the two of them laughed in kind. “Do you have a show coming up?”

Markus signed his name at the corner of the canvas. “In a couple months. The proceeds will go to the Detroit Homeless Shelter.”  
  
Connor smiled lightly. Since the revolution, a lot of androids have had a tough time in finding a living space despite the lack of amenities they need. That, paired with the still-high unemployment rate…

Needless to say, he was glad that Markus was following through on his mission. Everyone has their own journeys, and all that.

“Anything new?” Simon asked, noticing Connor’s fidgeting hands. He must have left his coin at home, because it wasn’t in its usual spot. Not like him to not carry it with him.

“I--” Connor stopped fumbling with his coat pocket. “I have a date tomorrow.”

Markus turned more towards Connor, folding his arms. “...Huh. I could have sworn you weren’t looking on going on dates.”

“It’s with my…. _phone friend_.”

“No _way_ .” Simon gasped. Markus must have told him _everything_ about Connor’s personal life. He didn’t mind.

“Did he ask you out or did you ask him out?” Markus asked as if it changed anything.  
  
“He actually asked me out.”

“Wonder what spurred him on…” Simon thought aloud.

Connor shrugged despite knowing it was probably Jason’s sudden death that allowed Hank’s guard to lower _just enough_ to make a move on him. “I’m not entirely sure, but we haven’t decided on what to do for our date tomorrow.”

Markus was silent for a moment, staring at the brush strokes on his painting. Simon was also deep in thought.

An idea came to Markus’ head. He snapped his fingers. “There’s an android zoo that opened up last year, you could go there!”

Connor thought of walking around with Hank, watching the animals. Monitoring their LEDs. On second thought… “I’m not sure if he would like that as a _first_ date. It sounds like he’s never been with an android before. It might make him uncomfortable.”

“There’s always the other zoo, with non-android animals.” Simon said.

Connor _again_ thought of walking around the zoo, watching the animals. Looking them up in his system real time, maybe even holding hands. His LED must have been glowing a bright blue, because Markus remarked on it. “How about that?”

He nodded, smiling. “I think that would be a great idea.”

Markus walked away from his easel, pulling down his shirt sleeves. “If you need to borrow any clothing, let me know. Oh, I’d also like to have my grey coat back.”

“Thank you, Markus, but I think I’ll be fine this time. Hank doesn’t seem--”

“First name,” Simon whispered to Markus excitedly despite Connor being able to hear them.

He felt his cheeks get hot. “He doesn’t seem like he’s all too concerned with looks.”

A pause. “Connor, does he know...what you do?” Markus sat on the armrest of the couch.

“He knows I work for the Detroit police department.”

“You know what I mean.”

“He...well he knows I work in homicide.”

“I think, and correct me if I’m out of line,” Markus tented his fingers, “that you should probably fill him in on _why_ you were programmed.”

Connor was silent, fingers itching to find his coin. Markus certainly wasn’t wrong, but Connor couldn’t find the impetus to speak. All he could do was nod.

“And if he’s uncomfortable with it,” Simon leans forward on the couch, “then he’s not worth your time.”

Connor nodded pleasantly, thankful for his friends. That being said, he couldn’t shake his previous date. How April looked at him with fear. He tried not to think of Hank’s mirroring hers.

\--

Connor didn’t get back to his apartment until 11 pm. He greeted his succulent when he walked in, turning on the light. As he watered his plant, he dialed Hank’s personal phone.

Dial tone.

Dial tone.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Hank,” Connor said, setting down his little watering can. “I hope I’m not calling you too late.”

Hank laughed at that. “Connor, it’s a fuckin’ Friday night. Of _course_ I’m up.” His voice seemed easier, more relaxed. It could be from the end of the week, it could be from drinking. It also could be both.

“Just thought I’d check.” He touched the succulent’s soil to make sure it was damp enough, then he went to look out at the Detroit skyline from his window. “What are you up to?”

“Ehh, nothing much. Unwinding.” He heard the TV click off, cutting out the sound on Hank’s side of the line. “What about you? I should tell you, heh, I’m not _on the clock_ right now--”

“I talked with a couple of my friends about what to do for our date tomorrow.” Connor ran a finger along the windowsill, collecting the stray specks of dust. He rolled it into a ball with his pointer finger and thumb. “They suggested the Detroit Zoo.”

“The android one or the animal one?”

“Animal.”

“Was hoping you’d say that one. I like that idea, Con.”

Smiling at the little nickname, he asked, “What time?”

“Mid-afternoon.” Hank answered all too suddenly. _Humans need their sleep,_ Connor supposed.

“Sounds good.”

A pause.

Hank cleared his throat into the speaker. “So, are you, uh--do you have anything else to talk about?”

Connor opened his mouth, then closed it. Where to even start? “I feel--I think it’s best if I explain _why_ I was created.”

“You gettin’ existential on me?” Hank asked playfully.

“No, not at all. I just--the last date I had didn’t end well.”

“Right, right, you _scared_ her somehow.”

“Yes. Well...I was designed to be a ‘deviant hunter.’” Connor admitted. Before Hank had a chance to speak, he continued. “My sole purpose was to find and neutralize deviant androids. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter to CyberLife. It didn’t matter to _me_. I...I didn’t have a conscience then. All of it was in my programming to obey.” Connor shut his eyes as he was telling Hank all of this, as if he was looking at him.

“...Shit.” Hank said.

“I was just a prototype for all of this. I was working against my kind to help out the humans. Then, well, the revolution happened, and I...I went deviant.”

Hank made a slight noise to indicate he was still on the line.

Connor opened his eyes again, the skyline greeting his vision. “My date saw me for what I used to be. I can’t blame her. She was--she was worried I’d revert back to my factory settings.” He looked down at his hands, curled into tight fists.

“Connor, I--”

“I’ve _killed_ people, Hank. I’ve had to reconcile with my past since becoming deviant. Then all these _other_ feelings appeared...and I met _you_.”

There was a pause on the other end. A short intake of breath. “You were just doing what you were programmed to do, Connor.”

It was Connor’s turn to be silent.

“Look, we-- _people_ , that is--we all do shit we aren’t proud of. Yeah, sometimes it’s not on the same level as killing people, but I doubt you did it in cold blood….right?”

“It was either I kill them or they kill me. I didn’t want to _die,_ Hank.”

“Self-preservation, then.” A sigh, possibly of relief? Connor couldn’t tell. “I’m certainly not going to be the morality police, because I have some skeletons in my closet too.” He didn’t elaborate any further. “I’m glad you told me.”

Connor upturned his lips slightly. “I just didn’t think it would be right if I didn’t let you know.”

“As long as you’re not going to kill _me_ or actually turn back into a machine, then I’m fine. Sounds like you’ve had plenty of time to think about this.”

Laughing slightly, he said, “You have no idea.” A beat. “And don’t worry. Deviancy isn’t reversible.”

“You didn’t confirm whether or not you’d kill me.”

He smirked. “I’m not going to.”

“I can hear you smirking, you son of a bitch!” Hank said, laughing. Connor didn’t realize facial expressions could be read over the phone.

Feeling like a massive weight was off his chest, Connor chuckled and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hank. Have a good night.”

“Heh, you too, babe.” That nickname, the smallest _notifier_ that everything was okay, put Connor at more ease than he ever thought possible.

Connor relaxed his shoulders after he hung up. Propping his forearms on the windowsill, he continued to look out at the city, eyes dancing along the flickering lights of passing cars.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Date

Hank had to be at the zoo in twenty minutes. Luckily, it was only a ten minute drive. That being said, he was still standing in front of his closet, fussing about what to wear. He’d been standing like this, wrapped in a towel, for the past five minutes. When he showered, he made careful effort to scrub every inch of him clean. Taking his own advice that he gave Connor a few weeks ago, he also jerked off in the shower.

You know, to help with nerves.

What fucking good that did, huh.

He flicked through his button up shirts once again. Paisley, paisley, checkered, gingham, floral, paisley. _Christ_ _,_ his ex was right. “I need earplugs to look at your shirts, Hank!” She would always say. Hank sighed, searching for the least loud print in his closet.

He liked his shirts just fine. He just wasn’t sure if his date would like them. A pattern too busy could probably fry his motherboard or CPU. Or whatever. Hank tried to find a shirt, _any_ shirt, without a pattern. Maybe something plain?

What, so then he could look like any other middle-aged sad sack? Hank sighed, choosing his teal gingham shirt. This will have to do. He dried off his mop of hair (and _that_ was another panic; to trim or not to trim) then flung his towel over the bedroom door. Hank quickly slipped on some boxers and an undershirt. Even though he lived alone (save for Sumo), he still felt odd walking around buck naked. Maybe it was a holdover from the divorce--

Two thoughts about the divorce on a Saturday? Stone cold sober? That wasn’t good.  
  
Looking at the clock -- five minutes left--he put on his date outfit. He went over to the bathroom, taking one last look at his reflection. _This’ll have to do_ , Hank thought, smoothing his hair down. He scrambled for his coat and keys, sitting in the same place as when he got home last night. Sumo barked softly. “I’ll let you out, boy, c’mon.” Hank said, letting him outside. He took this moment to start his car. The temperature was chilly, but not enough to worry about him rescheduling. Sumo was done doing his business, and Hank corralled him back inside. “I’ll be back, uh, later!” He said, feeling kind of foolish talking to his dog.  
  
Before Hank drove off, he sent Connor a message. _Hey, I’m gonna be a few mins late. Had to let the dog out._

In an instant, he got a response back. _That’s fine, Hank._ _I didn’t know you had a dog!_

Laughing slightly, Hank typed back _babe, there’s a lot you don’t know about me._

 _I hope that changes soon. :)_ And then he put a fucking smiley emoticon. Hank didn’t even bother asking how he could do that with his brain, figuring the explanation would be long-winded. That, and he was late. Hank tossed his phone to the passenger seat, skidding out of his driveway.

The zoo was surprisingly packed for a late autumn day. Hank had a hard time finding a spot to park. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, half the city is here…” He muttered to himself, looking back (way back) at where he parked. He checked his phone. _I’m at the front gate, Hank. I’m wearing a red sweater._

Hank shoved his phone into his pocket, laser-focused on finding any shade of red in the crowd. He was still well away from the entrance, but that didn’t stop him from looking. Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, he maneuvered around other groups of people. Families, mostly, but some young couples. It was a nice thing to see.  
  
The entrance was up ahead, along with glimpses of Connor in his dark red sweater. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He absentmindedly put a hand over his heart, making sure it didn’t jump out through his ribcage. _I could always turn back now, just leave and go--_

Hank shook those thoughts out of his head and removed his hand from his heart. “Act casual,” he said to himself, stuffing his hands in his worn coat pockets.

Almost as if the crowd of people parted at the right moment, Hank finally saw Connor. Sure, he saw him on CyberLife’s website, and maybe glimpses of him in the paper, but this was his first time seeing how he _really_ was. The thing about pre-Revolution Connor, Hank realized, is that his face had no...humanity to it. For a second he wondered if this was the same android he saw on his phone screen.  
  
“Connor?” Hank called out. The android’s eyes looked over at him, and his face turned warm at the sight of Hank. He was...beautiful, but Hank already knew that. Seeing him in the...flesh? Seemed different. He was a different kind of beautiful in person. His face, unlike how it was in the articles, had a sincerity to it. An openness. Hank wasn’t lying when he said he’d spill all his secrets to Connor.

Who knows, if this goes well, maybe Hank will.

“Hello Hank,” Connor said, voice as level as always. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He held out a slender hand.

Hank grasped Connor’s hand in a strong shake. “You as well,” he said.

“You have quite a strong handshake.” Connor remarked, looking down at Hank’s hand. Hank couldn’t help but wonder if Connor’s mind was wandering with all this new information.

“You’re not the first one to say that.” Hank said, realizing they were still shaking hands. He pulled his hand back and cleared his throat. “Would you like to go in?”

Connor nodded.

After getting their tickets, Connor insisted on a map. “Unless you’ve been here recently.” He reasoned.

Hank scoffed. “I haven’t been here since--” A beat. “-- _ever_?”

Connor opened up the map. “I think it would be nice to go to the aquarium. It’s closest by. One of my friends told me the moray eel was a must-see.”

Trying to think of what a moray eel looked like and failing, Hank responded, “Fine with me, Con.”

They walked leisurely to the aquarium. “You look nice, by the way.” Hank said, sharing sidelong glances at Connor’s outfit. A more casual look than he was expecting, not that Hank was complaining.

“Oh, I was about to say the same thing.” Connor smiled back.

Hank scoffed. “C’mon now.”

“I’m serious!”

He shook his head as if he were getting the compliment out of his mind. “You’re very sweet.” He knocked his elbow against Connor’s playfully.

They walked into the dimly lit aquarium. Connor, as it was to be expected, was more interested in all the fish than Hank. He mostly let Connor set the pace for looking at the exhibits, but he still moved through the tanks efficiently.

“It’s different looking at the fish up close than it is just researching them.” Connor said when Hank got next to him in a small tank for angelfish. The two of them watched a group of angelfish swirl around the tank, looking perfectly content.

“I can imagine.” Hank said, watching their scales shimmer in the light. When he looked over at Connor, he saw that Connor was looking back at him. He turned away, hiding his LED from Hank.

“I think the moray eel is up here.” He said quietly, embarrassed to be caught.

Hank walked beside him, patting him lightly. “Let’s go, then.”

As soon as Hank saw the eel, he made an “a-ha” noise. “Oh, these weird bastards.”

Connor looked back at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ya know the movie _Alien_? With the….xenomorph? A mouth in a mouth? That’s what these guys are.”

Connor’s eyelids fluttered slightly. Doing a search of what Hank means? “... _Oh_ , I see.” He turned to face the tank with even more interest.

Personally, Hank wasn’t a fan of eels. Snakes of the sea, and these fuckers had _two_ mouths to worry about? He stood a few steps away from the tank.

They continued on their exploration of the aquarium. Nearing the end of the building, they consulted the map again. “What would you like to see, Hank?”

“I’d like to see the lions and tigers. They were always my favorite.”

“I thought you never have been to this zoo?”

“ _Yeah_ , but I’ve been to _a_ zoo. It’s just been…” _A few decades?_ “A while.”

Connor folded up the map. “Let’s go.”

Hank led the way. He walked to the exit until he turned around and saw Connor staring at one of the tanks. He was stopped dead by whatever was in there. Hank saw his LED flicker from yellow, to blue, to yellow again. He approached him cautiously, not sure of what the color means. If it’s anything like a traffic light…

He read the name of the fish on the placard. A dwarf gourami.

A fish that Hank had absolutely never seen before. Had Connor seen it? _When?_

He put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, breaking him out of his trance. “You okay?”

Connor paused, his LED circling back to blue. “...I am.”

It didn’t seem like it, but Hank decided not to push it. “I’ll lead the way.”

Outside of the aquarium, Connor snapped back to his usual self. At least, that’s what it seemed like to Hank. He took in all of the information at the animals they passed. Bears, zebras, crocodiles. Nothing seemed familiar to Connor, and Hank couldn’t help but focus on his date rather than the exhibits.  
  
Over at the lion enclosure, it seemed to be nap time for the large cats. Hank never had a cat growing up --the Andersons were a dog family, for sure--but he knew enough about cats to know this was typical behavior across the board. Hank shoved his hands in his pockets, watching the lion’s tails swipe away at flies. Soon it’ll be too cold for them to be outside, that much Hank knew. Do they hibernate? Does the zoo ship them somewhere warmer? Do they stay inside? Even though the lions (and the tigers) were his favorites, he realized he didn’t know much about them.

“Hank,” Connor said, “Did you know the female lions do most of the hunting?”

“Then what’s the, uh, point of the male lion? You know, the head honcho with the mane?” Hank made a gesture around his head as if he needed a visual for Connor.

Connor’s eyelids fluttered. “They’re there for procreation, for the most part. But they also provide protection for the rest of the lions.”

“Makes sense.” He cast one more look over at the snoozing pride before saying, “Let’s see what the tigers are up to.”

The tiger exhibit was much more interesting. One male tiger, in one fenced off area, was stalking another male tiger on the other side. Lots of bearing of teeth, some growls. One tiger took off for higher ground, nimbly jumping up the ramp. The other tiger followed, still sneering. Connor watched the scene with rapt attention, his LED circling yellow. Hank wasn’t entirely sure if that was out of fear or processing of new information. Maybe it was both.

Just to be sure, Hank put a stabilizing hand on Connor’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Con. They’re both safe.”

Connor looked over at Hank, his LED back to blue. “Oh, I know. I’m just recording some of it so I can show it to my friends when we interface.”

“Inter-what?” Hank clearly didn’t read enough of the CyberLife packet he printed out.

Connor smiled slightly. “Let me explain.” He held up his hand, turning it white. Hank focused on the smooth plastic of Connor’s hand, light peeking through slightly from the spaces of his shell. “Androids have this thing we call ‘interfacing.’ We go like this--here, put your hand against mine.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just a clever ruse to hold my hand?” Hank asked slyly.

“I wouldn’t need a ruse.” Connor smirked. “Go on.”

Hank did as he was told. He placed his rough calloused hand against Connor’s smooth hand. The light peeking from Connor’s shell glowed at the touch. Hank felt his hand get slightly warm. It felt nice.

“If you were an android, you’d get a whole stream of information about our date.” His LED was spinning from blue, to yellow, to blue.

Hank looked down at his hand. “Hope it’s all _good_ information.”

“Of course.” Connor stopped his hand from glowing. He moved his hand away from Hank. “Would you like to see the seals?”

Hank’s hand felt cold again, yearning for that warm touch. Maybe later. “Sure.”

They walked to the back of the zoo. Connor cut in, “There’s another way of interfacing, as well.” 

 _“Oh yeah?_ S’that so?” A flash of two androids having sex appeared in Hank’s mind, their white bodies glowing around their pelvic area.

“A more formal way, I should say.” Connor must have noticed Hank’s lecherous grin. “Between friends and colleagues, we interface at the forearm.”

“Ah.” Hank nodded. He realized what Connor was saying, between the lines. Hank patted him on the back. “Glad you see me more than just a colleague.”

“Of course.” Connor smiled. Hank’s heart felt warm.

The seals exhibit was lively. A few different seals stayed on land, but Hank and Connor lost track of time as they watched a seal swim and do flipturns nonstop. Again, Connor’s LED was yellow.  
  
“You recording?” Hank asked.

“Yes.” Connor said, staring as another seal joined the seal in the water.  
  
“I hope you don’t uh...record...well, you know--”

Connor’s LED glowed a spectacular yellow.   
  
“...Do you?”

He turned to face Hank. “I do, but that stays with me when I interface. They’re in my own memory banks, for...safekeeping.”

“Sorta like how couples film sex tapes for themselves?” Hank asked lowly, checking if there were any kids around. There were not, thankfully.

Connor knitted his brows together. His eyelids didn’t flutter, for good reason. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Well, I trust you. S’long as you’re not going to broadcast it on every television if things go--” _If things go South._ Hank held his tongue. He shouldn’t be thinking of breakups on their first in-person date.

Connor shook his head, the one rogue lock swaying back and forth against his forehead. “That would be cruel!”  
  
“Okay, as you were. Not trying to rush you or anything, but I’m getting hungry.”

“I’m done filming, actually.”

“Would you mind if I--?”

“Not at all. I think we passed a concession stand on the way here.”

Being that it was the first _official_ date and all, Hank got a healthy chicken wrap and a water for way too much money. His stomach was yelling for the burger and pop, but for once it didn’t mire his judgement.

The two of them found a bench nearby, watching the other zoo guests walk past them.

“Are you having fun?” Connor asked, some slight concern in his voice.

Hank swallowed his bite. “I should be asking you that same question.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ignoring the negative thoughts in the back of his head, Hank thought back to the aquarium. “I just--that one fish you were looking at--”

His LED spun to yellow. “The dwarf gourami.” He said with much more gravity than Hank was expecting.  
  
“Yeah. If you don’t mind me asking.” Hank took a swig of water. He set his bottle down, watching Connor’s hands bundle at his knees.

“I was--My first assignment when I was activated was a hostage situation. This android found out he was going to replaced, and he killed the family he was assigned to. He--he held the child hostage.”

Hank muttered. “Jesus,” before taking another bite.

“Well, it’s just...when I walked in, there was a fish, a dwarf gourami, that was flopping on the floor. Not knowing exactly _why_ at the time, I put it back in the tank. There was no directive for me to do that. I had to go in, save the child. Nothing else mattered. But I did that.”

Hank crumbled up the sandwich wax paper and tossed it into the trash can behind him. “You think even _then_ you knew you could be more than what you were meant to do?”

Connor nodded. “And seeing that fish, that same species of fish, back there...all those memories flooded back.”

Hank put his hand over Connor’s. Different this time. He stroked a thumb over Connor’s skin. “I’m sorry about that, Con.”

He was silent, watching Hank’s thumb softly run over his knuckles. A pause.  
  
“...Did you save the kid?” Hank asked. He had to know.

“Of course. All I focused on back then was completing my mission.” There was a soft lilt in his voice, even when talking about doing unarguably good things. The matter of choice, Hank supposed.

Hank kept his hand on Connor’s. “That feels nice,” Connor said quietly.

“Glad it does.” Hank smiled.

“You seem to know what you’re doing.”

Hank laughed slightly. “I don’t know about _that_. My ex-wife would say otherwise.”

Connor seemed surprised. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“Sure was. For six years.”

“What happened?”

For a second, Hank wanted to avoid the topic. But, having a more than willing and comforting audience helped him. He took a deep breath. “We tried for a kid, so many times. Spent thousands of dollars at the fertility clinic, tried IVF, even asked for a _surrogate_...Nothing seemed to work. She didn’t want to adopt. Resentment grew between us. We both said some really nasty shit to each other one night, and then that next day...that was it.”

“Oh,” Connor responded. That was all he could really respond with in that moment.   
  
Hank sighed. “Yeah, she...she filed for divorce shortly after that. It was such a bitter separation. Amazing how fast love can sour.”

“Do you ever talk to her?”   
  
“Not if I can help it.” Hank felt tears well in his eyes. “I know she’s married, has two kids.” He sighed. “She got everything she wanted.”

Connor put his hand on top of Hank’s. “And what about you?”

Hank wiped at his eyes with his other hand. “I’m working on that part.” He sighed, clearing his throat. “Jesus, look at me sobbing on the first date.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s our first date.” Connor smiled, pressing the pads of his fingers down onto the back of Hank’s hand.

Hank laughed, actively putting sadness behind him. “I’m not sure if those count.”

“According to who?”

“I don’t know! The fuckin’...date experts?!” He smirked at Connor.

Connor chuckled. “Well, _I_ think this is well into our twentieth date.”

“Oh, so it’s more okay to cry on the twentieth date?” Hank interlaced his fingers with Connor’s.

He smiled. “Correct.”

“Heh, if you say so.”

\--

The two of them continued with their tour of the zoo, well until the last ten minutes of the park closing. As they made their way back to the entrance, Connor said. “I think my train is also leaving soon.”  
  
“What, you trying to skip out on me?”

“No, not at all! It’s just, I know the times after 9 pm become more spaced out, and--”

“Relax, Connor. I’m just kidding. And come on, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t drive you home?”

“Oh, you’re okay with that?”

“I’m not gonna be some kind of prick that leaves you at the train station!”

“Okay, take me home then.”

Before Connor got into the passenger's seat, Hank shoved all the plastic bags and cartons out of the way. “Sorry, not used to having more than just me in my car.” He said sheepishly.

“It’s all right. Thanks again for offering to take me home.”  
  
Hank flicked his hand. “Of course! Come on in.” He turned the engine over. Rock music instantly started blaring through the speakers. Connor seemed taken aback. “Shit, fuck, sorry ‘bout that. Do you want to listen to anything?”

Connor thought about Gavin, always saying, “We’re listening to whatever I wanna listen to, dipshit.” “Anything but this, please.”  
  
Hank tried not to be offended as he switched to the jazz channel on his presets. A smooth, sultry tone flooded the interior of the car. “That better for ya?”  
  
Connor sunk into the leather seat. “Yes.”

\--

Hank parked just outside of Connor’s high-rise apartment. _The DPD seems to be treating him well_ , Hank mused. “Is this you?”

Connor nodded, unbuckling the seat belt. He didn’t motion for the door. “Hank.” Connor said, turning down the radio.  
  
Here it was. The moment Hank was simultaneously excited and scared about. It’s been... _a while_ since he’s kissed someone, and it’s been his entire life since he’s kissed an android. Then, he reasoned, Connor has never kissed either, so they might be on the same playing field.

Connor rotated slightly in his seat, facing towards Hank. “Can I kiss you?”

Hank laughed slightly at the earnestness, the openness of his expression. Even though he has done more explicit things with Connor, this seemed to Hank like they were back at square one.  
  
“Of course.” Hank whispered, leaning forward to meet Connor’s lips.

It was kind of like kissing a mannequin. Connor’s lips were out of sync with Hank’s. He brought a hand up to the android’s face, at first caressing the smooth skin. Then, using his thumb, he put some pressure on Connor’s chin, directing him to open his mouth. Connor did, slightly. Hank flicked a tongue into Connor’s mouth briefly. He made a noise of surprise against Hank’s lips, but didn’t follow suit. They managed to finally match their kisses up to one another. Connor gripped at Hank’s shoulders. Hank felt warmth coming from Connor’s hands, interfacing with nothing. Connor kept his lips mostly closed, and Hank stopped trying to sneak his tongue in. They broke their kiss afterwards, Hank completely focused on Connor’s face, lit up by his blue LED.

“How was that?” Hank asked. He brushed his fingers against Connor’s cheek.

Connor furrowed his brows, processing what just happened. “I need practice.”

Hank laughed, maybe a little too loud. “Yeah, but it wasn’t bad for a first time.” Okay, maybe he was lying, but little white lies are fine every once in a while.

“Let me try again. I can do better.”

And then, with all the charm and charisma Hank had in that moment, Hank leaned in near Connor’s ear and said. “Maybe next time.” He gave Connor’s face a small pat before going back to his side of the car. “Night, Connor.”

Connor beamed, mind obviously focused on the phrase “next time,” as he said “Good night, Hank.” He stepped out of Hank’s car and walked to his apartment building, looking back at Hank every few steps.

Hank waited until Connor got into the building, then he drove off, almost feeling lightheaded. Even though the kiss was odd, it was all he could think about for the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

That Tuesday, Connor met up at Markus’ house to discuss the date. Well, it began that way, but shortly after Connor was explaining the different animals at the zoo, his two friends were clamoring to interface with him. He joined up with their forearms, his skin showing off his white chassis. The blue light glowed when he touched them, transferring the footage of the date to them.

Unfortunately, Connor included the car ride.

He cut off the interfacing with Markus and North. “Nothing happened after he drove me home.”

Markus still had out his forearm. “I find that incredibly hard to believe.”

 _How foolish of me,_ Connor thought. _Forgetting to curate what information to show with Markus and North._

“Did something bad happen to you?” North asked, concerned. Ever since the date with April, she’s been more aware of Connor’s feelings.

Connor shook his head. “No, not at all! We just--”

Markus grinned widely. “You _kissed_ him!”

North gasped. “ _Did you?!”_

Connor’s eyes darted between the two. He felt his cheeks get hot. His fingers twitched. “I--We might have--”

Markus held out his forearm excitedly. “Show me.”

North removed the skin projection from her arm as well. “Me too!”

Connor, internal temperatures rising still, reluctantly held out his forearm for his friends to take. He presented what happened after the car ride. He held his breath, not that he had lungs, and waited.

Markus opened his eyes first. He was silent for a moment, looking like he was trying to find the right words. “That was…”

“--Weird.” North cut in. The two of them must have experienced a trace of how kissing Hank was.

Connor felt embarrassed, suddenly regretting showing them the kiss even more than he already did. “I--I didn’t--” Didn’t _what_ ? He wasn’t sure how to even explain himself.  
  
Markus placed a reassuring hand on Connor’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It was your first kiss. We all gotta start somewhere.” He pointedly looked over at North. “ _Right?_ ”

North gently patted Connor’s chest. “Sorry for calling the kiss weird. Your date is just…” She thought of her words more carefully this time. “Not my type.”

“It’s okay. I just want to get better for our next date.” Connor curled his hands into fists, then released them again.

“Has a next date been decided?” Markus asked.

Connor shook his head. “I haven’t talked to him since Saturday night.”

North made a thoughtful noise. “Is that common that you don’t speak to him for a couple of days?”

He furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. Sure, when Connor was calling the hotline, they didn’t talk every night. But now that they message each other like they’re dating…

He blinked a few times, pulling up his messages. “One moment.” He said to his friends, not wanting to be rude.

Sure enough, the last time they talked was late Saturday night.   
  
_I had a really nice time with you, Hank._

_Same here_

_I promise I’ll get better at kissing._

_Luckily for you I know someone who is willing to teach ya_

And that was it. No ‘good morning’ niceties the next day. No small talk. Connor’s thirium pump started beating faster. Had he screwed it up? He reread the last text. Nothing indicated a problem. It was happy, and definitely flirty.

Against his better judgement, Connor sent a text.

_Would you like to go on our next date this Saturday?_

And, without letting himself over-analyze the messages (or lack thereof), Connor closed the program.  
  
“Sorry about that.”

\--

“‘Our next date...’” Hank read. He leaned against the kitchen counter.

Huh. So the date wasn’t a fluke.

When Hank woke up on Sunday, the butterflies in his stomach had subsided. He could still feel Connor’s strange lips against his own, but it wasn’t the same as how he’d felt the night before. Then, well, that was something else. His first date since the divorce and it went _well_? Hank got cold feet midway through Sunday, opening and closing his texts probably a thousand times over.

The self doubt crept in. Maybe Connor was just using him as some sort of test run, some way to work up to better candidates for him. He kept rereading the flirty text he sent the night before, still riding high from the smoothness he expressed when he dropped Connor off. Thinking back on it, only a few days out, it felt like a lifetime. Where did that confidence come from? And how can he have it all the time?

Hank _wasn’t_ planning on ghosting Connor. Sure it might look like that, but...Hank needed to navigate his usual ennui before doing anything drastic.

Like definitely promising a “next time” on the first date. Lucky it worked out for him.

His heart jumped more than he’d like to admit when he saw Connor’s name pop up on his phone. Maybe it’s time to change his name in his phone from _Horny Robot/Android_ to just _Connor_. Maybe, if he’s feeling cheeky, he could put a robot emoji next to his name.

Reading Connor’s text over again, asking about this Saturday, Hank looked at his calendar. It was still a couple months behind (one of these days, he’ll flip it to the current month), only indicating Hank had fucking _nothing_ to do.

_Of course, Con. Sorry about not texting you. Busy_

“What a crock of shit...” Hank muttered to himself, scratching his beard.

Almost instantly, a response.

_What would you like to do?_

Hank thought for a moment. He looked over at his dog, lounging luxuriously on the couch. Connor briefly expressed interest in Hank having a dog. Which--

 _Maybe he could come over here._ Hank thought brazenly.

That was crazy talk. It’s only the second date.

 _Or, if we’re going on Connor’s tally, this would be the like...21st date._ Hank thought, trying to match up his numbers. That sounded about right.

Hm. Worth a shot. Hank couldn’t exactly leave another few days of space between the texts.

_Do you wanna come over to my place? You could finally meet my dog. We could watch a movie or something too_

With not even enough time to regret asking, Connor responded.

 _I’d love to._ _Let’s plan for the evening._

  
\--

“He wants me to come over to his house.” Connor blurted out.  
  
“What, now?” North asked, amused by his outburst.

“No, no. For this Saturday.”

Markus was silent for a moment. He seemed deep in thought. Connor, being Connor, noticed his silence. “What is it?”

“You know what this means, right?” He folded his arms and rested against Carl’s very large taxidermied giraffe.

“...I’m not sure if I follow, Markus.”

Markus smirked, casting a knowing glance over to North. “C’mon, you and Hank, _alone_ . At his _house_ \--”

“Are you insinuating--?”

North grinned. “Markus thinks you and Hank are going to fuck this Saturday.” Connor’s eyes went wide at the prediction.

“ _What?!_ No I don’t!” Markus spat out.

“Wait, you _didn’t_ mean that?” North seemed just as surprised as Connor.

“No!”

Connor decided to chime in on the conversation. “Well, being that I don’t have compatible genit--"

North held up her hand. “Ah, ah. No, shh. Don’t want to know about _that_.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Markus. What were you saying?”

“I just meant that Connor’s going to have to learn about making out.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Markus, I _know_ about making out.”

“Sure, you know the _definition_ of it, but do you really _know_?”

Markus heard a derisive scoff from North. “What, are you going to teach him?”

Connor, thinking while Markus sputters at North’s question, got an idea. “Wait a minute.”

North laughed. “Connor, I was just kidding!”

“Show me.” Connor said, holding out his arm for Markus to grab. “I know you and Simon kiss. Just present to me what it’s like in your memory banks.”

Markus’ two-toned eyes flicked down at Connor’s hand, the white chassis revealed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But! But I showed you my kiss with Hank!”

“ _Yes_ , but I don’t think--” He paused, then regathered his thoughts. Anything to not divulge too much about his own personal life.  “What I mean to say is, maybe Hank wants to teach you?”

Connor continued to hold out his arm as he thought about this. “He did mention something like that.”

“So, I mean, really. I don’t know how much good it would be if I showed you how _I_ do it, you know?”

North nudged Markus. “Good one.” She whispered.

Connor furrowed his brows at this. Another territory to navigate. He wasn’t sure if it was natural to go all out of order in terms of intimacy, but he hoped it wasn’t a big deal if he did. He put his arm back down to his side. “I get your point.”

“How about we go to a movie, or go for a walk? I don’t know how much more I can be a dating coach.” North sighed.

“But you set me up on a date.” Connor stated.

“ _Yeah_ , but that was different. It was easier.”

“Not that we _don’t_ like helping you.” Markus jumped in. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s a good night for it.”

\--

When Connor got home from his walk with North and Markus, he unwound. Not the usual type of unwinding, sometimes literally unwinding his wires and listening to Hank murmur into his ear, but an _actual_ unwinding. He took off his blazer, carefully hanging it up before unbuttoning his dress shirt. After tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner of his room, he settled down in his bed. Sure, he didn’t _need_ to rest, but it still felt good. He pulled out a book from his end table. He remembered Hank talking, nay _romanticizing_ , the concept of printed media. “There’s nothing like the smell of an old book, Con. You don’t get the same feeling of reading as you do if you’re on a fuckin’ phone or something.”  
  
Initially, Connor figured that was just a strange middle-aged hangup from his childhood. Still, he insisted to Connor that he go to the library. Pick up something he would like.  
  
A few days before the date, he did just that. He picked up a romance novel.  
  
“Ah, a real bodice-ripper.” The librarian mused as she checked him out. “Didn’t think your type would be interested in something like this.”

Connor shrugged, trying not to pay attention to the strange phrasing in what she said. “I’m interested in all types of literature.”

“Okay!” The librarian said, handing the book back to him. “I don’t mean any offense. I’ve read this one before.” She tapped the cover unnecessarily. “You’re in for a real treat.”

Cracking open the book for the night, Connor hadn’t experienced anything within the story too treat-like. It was fine, thus far. The two romantic leads hadn’t gotten together yet. Being that Connor could look up anything at any time, he turned off his connection to the CyberLife network when he read it. It made for a more authentic experience. Every time he opened up the book, he sniffed it using his olfactory sensors. He couldn’t help but think of Hank.

He read for about an hour, turning page after page of secret yearnings and stolen glances. It was all so tense.  
  
And then, finally, the two characters kissed.  
  
_The handsome gentleman placed his lips against hers. He tasted of peppermint, which delighted her. She ran her hands through his lush hair, deepening into the kiss. His hands started to explore her body, over the layers of taffeta. His rugged hands just stopped at the swell of her breasts, strained and pressed against her corset. She parted her lips open slightly, allowing his tongue to enter her mouth. Their tongues swirled like two dancers, lapping and wanton. The contrast of his soft lips and scratchy beard made her essence swell--_

Connor stopped and reread the passage over again, imagining Hank as the dashing and rugged outsider.

After reading that passage a few times and the next passage only once, he set his book down on the end table. His hands circled around his thoracic panel, thinking about calling Hank. He ghosted his fingers against his lips, parting them slightly.  
  
He decided against calling Hank and touching himself, instead going into stasis. As his systems went into rest mode, he considered the kiss within the book.

\--

Hank was going to have a fucking heart attack.

Somehow, the week seemed to slip through his fingers and jump to Friday night. It was as soon as he got home (after shedding himself of his miserable slacks and plain button up) that he got to cleaning. He vacuumed the living room and under the couch, ears perked up by the amount of crumbs ground into the old area rug. He couldn’t remember the last time he vacuumed his place. He couldn’t exactly do it when working on “the line,” for obvious reasons. Since moving into this house post-divorce, he’s never had to make it presentable or clean it up. He cleaned it up as need be, or when he had the slightest bit of energy.  
  
However, even though things had been better in recent months, Hank knew this was going to be his plans for the rest of the night. He put on some music (something Connor probably _wouldn’t_ like, he mused), and got to work. He tossed out the discarded takeout boxes that had been next to the trash can for much too long. He scrubbed the grime off the stovetop. He even did all of his dishes, the most loathsome of tasks. Sumo watched him with disinterest from the couch as he took a cloth to the shelves and fancy TV. Part of him wondered if he should clean his room. It’s a presumptuous thought, sure, but what if Connor wanted to see how his bedroom looked.  
  
Hank sighed, whipping the cloth over his shoulder as he went to his bedroom. At the very least, he threw his clothes into the hamper. With foresight and nerves getting the best of him, Hank picked out his outfit for tomorrow. Some dark wash jeans and a nice paisley shirt. Subtly paisley, if there ever was such a thing. He even slung his single cardigan over the shirt. His mind drifted to tomorrow night, imagining him in this clean outfit as he schmoozed and wooed Connor. He laughed, despite himself, at the idea of him being so smooth. “Not a fuckin’ chance.” Hank said, closing the closet doors. He ran the vacuum in his room, since it was already out, and he went to the bathroom next.  
  
_It’s not like Connor’s going to have to piss or anything._ Hank thought, tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper. He glanced over at the mirror, the neon sticky notes looking more pathetic each day. He tried, many times, to take them down. But he just couldn’t. Despite his mannerisms, Hank was too sentimental for his own good. He has pictures on pictures of his previous marriage boxed up in the garage. It was weird to hold onto them, but even weirder to let them go. He ran a hand across the note, the corner curling. He sighed, deeply, and stepped out of the bathroom.  
  
It was around ten p.m. He called Connor.  
  
He picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Hank.”

Hank smiled at the sound of his voice. They hadn’t talked on the phone (in either form) since the date. Sure, texting was one thing. Maybe Hank was too much of a traditionalist, but nothing beat hearing Connor’s voice.

“Hey Con,” Hank said, pacing around his apartment. “I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” Connor said, the sound of rustling paper. “I’m just checking over some reports.”  
  
“Are you still at work?”

“No, I took these files home with me. My partner asked me to double check them.”

Hank couldn’t fathom the concept of taking work home after quitting time, but that was where they differed. “Ah. I have something to ask you.”

“Is everything all right?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. No big deal. Hey, um...what’s your apartment look like?”

“How do you mean?”

“Is it like--is it a big apartment? Modern?”

“Well,” Connor sounded like he was looking around the room, distracted. “It’s pretty...compact.”

“Do you have like, a kitchen, or bathroom?”  
  
“No kitchen, although I have a bathroom. A half bathroom.”

“ _Half?_ Which half is missing?”

“The toilet.”

Hank scoffed. “Yeah, guess that _does_ make sense. How’s your bedroom?”

Some rustling on the line. Sounded like Connor was getting comfortable. “Is this going to be one of _those_ calls?”

“No! No--” He paused. “Unless, you want it to--”

“Mm,” he thought. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Really, I just called cause I’m cleaning my house, you know, for tomorrow, and I kept thinkin’ about how your place probably looks.”

“I don’t know if you’d like it. It might be too constricting for you.”

Hank checked his own house, feeling constricted enough already. “You could be right.”

“I have a window, though. _Two_ , actually.”  
  
“That’s not exactly bragging rights, Con.”

“Some androids don’t even have a window, so it’s worthy of bragging.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “You never answered my question ‘bout your bedroom, by the way.”  
  
“My bed takes up most of the room. It’s a king size.”

Hank, ignoring the brief flash of imagining him and Connor wrapped up in a king sized bed, balked. “Not even _I_ have a king sized bed, and I actually need sleep!”

“I like comfort.” Connor offered.

“I hate to fuckin’ ask, but I have to know. How much is your rent?”

“1600 a month.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Connor. In Detroit?!”

“It’s close to my job.”  
  
“Yeah, but--but... _fuck._ I hope the DPD is paying you well.”

“I get by.” Connor said succinctly. Hank wept silently for how much money he was throwing away in that shoebox of a high rise.

“Still…” Hank grumbled. He needed to change the subject. “Hey, about tomorrow.”

“Yes?”  
  
“What kind of movie would you want to watch?”

“Hm.” Connor thought. “I’ve never really watched a movie.”

“I--you’re fucking with me.”

“I was going to see a movie with April, the date I had before you, but that didn’t well….happen.”

Hank was floored. That’s so much responsibility. Picking out the first movie for someone to watch?! “I’m...I’m gonna need to think about this.”  
  
“All right, Hank. Should I let you go?”

“Yeah. My night isn’t over just yet.” Hank cast his eyes over to his movie collection.  
  
“Good night, Hank.” Connor said, amused.

“Night.” He ended the call, going over to pick something out.  
  
\--

Connor took a taxi to get to Hank’s house. 

  
He made sure to tell Connor that there isn’t a direct train line out near his neighborhood. When Connor stepped out of the taxi, giving a onceover at the neighborhood. It seemed like any other sleepy suburbs. He was right in front of Hank’s house, although curiosity got the better of him as he went to check the end of the cul-de-sac. Hank’s house was situated near the bay, the calm lapping of water serving as a soundtrack for this calm evening.  
  
Connor turned and went back to Hank’s front door. He saw his reflection in the glass, and tried to get his rogue lock of hair off his forehead with no avail. Tensing his fingers, he pushed the doorbell.  
  
Hank opened it only a few seconds later, probably watching Connor from his window. He looked handsome with his hair tucked behind his ears. “Hey, Connor,” he greeted, letting him inside. “I see you found my place just fine.”

As Connor stepped into Hank’s house, he was struck by the warmth of it. Jazz was playing softly in the background, the crackles in the record even quieter. He could smell Hank’s cologne, inviting him to get closer. Connor kept his space, feeling it wouldn’t be right to immediately jump him as soon as he walked in.  
  
“Yes, no issues there. I couldn’t help but look at your neighborhood before you walked in.”

“Oh yeah, it’s really interesting.” Hank rolled his eyes. “Sumo, c’mere boy!” He snapped his fingers, and a dog that was larger than any other dog Connor had seen in his life lumbered towards him.  
  
Connor knelt down, letting the St. Bernard sniff at him. “So you do have a dog!”  
  
“Course I do, why would I lie?”

Sumo seemed to approve of Connor, letting him scratch him behind the ears. “Sumo is a very nice dog.”

“Yeah, except when he’s whining for a treat. I’ll take your coat.”

Connor stood and took off his grey coat that he borrowed from Markus. One of these days he was going to give it back to him. Just not...today.

As he went to hang up his coat on the coat rack, Hank called out, “You know. I was nervous I was going too fast, with me inviting you over n’ all.”  
  
“Why would you think that? We met on a--”

“--A sex line, I _know_ .” Hank went to the kitchen to grab a wine glass. Without thinking, he grabbed two. “It’s just, things are different in _person_ , ya know?” He wasn’t sure why he was explaining himself. Better to get the nerves out at the beginning of the date, he supposed. He poured a few ounces of fancy wine into each glass. “That, and I haven’t really had anyone over like this, since--since....forever ago.” He walked back over to Connor, the red wine swirling in the glasses. “And I...I was just nervous.” He held a glass out for Connor, and he was greeted by his LED, now yellow. “Ah, Jesus.” He laughed, his cheeks turning pink.

Connor placed a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Hank,” he said with ease, “It’s _okay_.”

He looked down, pouring the extra wine into his glass. “Sorry, I’m not used to this whole ‘dating an android’ thing just yet.”

“Well,” Connor smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not used to this whole ‘dating a human’ thing either.” His hand squeezed Hank’s shoulder before letting go.  
  
It took everything in Hank’s power not to drop his wine glass and kiss him feverishly in that moment. Instead, in a less carnal move, he sipped at his wine. “Would you like to have a tour?”

“Sure!” Connor said, as if his fancy robot brain hadn’t determined the exact layout of the house already.  
  
“Okay, well, uh--” He motioned around himself. “The kitchen.” He pointed over Connor’s shoulder. “Living room.” He made a vague gesture to the hallway. “My bedroom and the bathroom. _And_ the garage, but that’s not exactly interesting.”  
  
“That was a longer tour than it would take for my apartment.” Connor stated. “It’s probably half the size of your house.”  
  
“And twice the budget,” Hank muttered into his wine glass. “Anyway, as shitty as the price is, I’d like to see it sometime.”

Connor smirked. “Not much to see.” Then he thought for a moment. “I do have a succulent plant. That’s the closest thing I have to a pet.”

“A succulent? Well then I definitely have to visit!” Hank said sarcastically, and Connor smiled in return.

A lull in the conversation happened between them, the sound of smooth jazz filling the gap. Connor was the first to speak again. “Did you choose a movie?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. After two hours of worrying about what to pick, I finally chose something.”

“What is it?”

“ _Casablanca._ ”

Connor’s eyelids flickered as he processed the synopsis of the film. “Sounds interesting!”

“Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief. I don’t know what I would have done if you _weren’t_ interested.”

Connor plopped down on the couch, right next to a now sleeping Sumo. “Even if I wasn’t interested, I’d watch it with you.”

And, again, it took a Herculean strength to not smash his wine glass in his hand and kiss Connor until his CPU goes haywire. He set down his half-full glass and got out the DVD.

After he got it all set up, Hank went and shut off the lights in the living room and sat next to Connor on the couch. It felt nice, the two of them (and Sumo). Hank tried not to imagine a future where this was a regular occurrence, but...the thought was certainly there.  
  
_“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”_ Humphrey Bogart groused on the screen. Hank couldn’t help but mouth along with the words, being that he had probably seen this a million times. He slung an arm around Connor, trying to get him to be more relaxed. After about twenty minutes of trying not to eyeball Connor’s movements, Hank leaned over and asked him, “Everything okay?”  
  
“Yes, of course.” Connor answered, still watching the movie. “Why do you ask?”

Hank looked Connor up and down in disbelief. He was sitting perfectly upright. “You don’t look comfortable.”

“I’m fine, Hank. Would you like it if I sat differently?”  
  
“Well that just sounds silly now that you ask it like _that._ ” Hank laughed. “I was just wondering, s’all.”

Eventually, Connor learned to relax under Hank’s arm. He rested his body against his side, ever slightly, his weight a welcome presence on Hank’s side. It wasn’t immobilizing, or weird. Okay, well, maybe a little weird. A comfortable weirdness.  
  
As the movie wrapped up, with the famous last line, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” and everything, Connor was back up to his spot before. Sumo didn’t take to the change in positioning, and he moved to sleep on the floor. Hank could tell what Connor was thinking about, because he was thinking the exact same thing.  
  
The exact moment, the credits appeared, Connor turned to Hank. “Hank,” he said, low enough for only them to hear, “Can I kiss you?”  
  
Hank laughed, hitting the power button on the DVD player. “What, you don’t want to wax poetically about the movie?”  
  
“We could do that later.” Connor said with a sight impatience in his voice. He put a hand on Connor’s chest. “Can I kiss you?” He asked again.  
  
“You know,” Hank said, moving closer to Connor, “You don’t have to ask every time.” Just before he put his lips against Connor’s he added, “And, yes. I’d love to kiss you.”

The kiss this time seemed more natural. Connor was receptive to Hank’s lips, parting them open slightly more than last time. He even slipped Hank a tongue, which caught Hank off guard in a good way. Hank pressed his tongue against Connor’s. It felt remarkably like a human’s tongue, which Hank eased at. He was worried it’d feel like a cat’s tongue, all course and unyielding. Connor’s hands gripped at Hank’s cardigan, pulling it off of him. Once it was off, he pressed his fingers into Hank’s skin through his garish shirt. Hank felt warm with Connor’s touch, and he groaned into his mouth. Connor dragged his fingers down the expanse of his chest, taking in new information. Hank, learning a couple of things about androids, decided to take a small risk.  
  
He circled his large fingers around the back of Connor’s neck. Connor let out a surprised sound, breaking the kiss. His skin projection disappeared from that spot.  
  
“I’ve been reading the cyberlife manual before bedtime.” Hank growled in Connor’s ear.  And Connor felt a little less strange about having to do research for this date. “Did you know this panel back here was your second power outlet?” He traced his fingers along the ridge of the panel.

“Y-yes,” Connor stuttered. “I d-did.”

“Would you mind if I check it out?” Hank smirked, planting soft kisses against Connor’s cheek.

He heard the distinct hiss of the panel opening. Connor was already trembling out of excitement.

Hank looked at the back of Connor’s neck, the blue wires tucked just under the stark white chassis. His fingers itched to go inside and fiddle around, so he went to--

“Wait!” Connor said, a small bit of rationality still remaining.  
  
Hank pulled his hand away. “What, what is it?” He searched Connor’s face. “Too much?”

Connor shook his head slightly. “It’s not that. I was just wondering…do you have protection?”

He stifled a laugh as he remembered the passage in the manual. _‘The abnormal amount of interference of a foreign object in the wires may trigger an unpleasant shock. Be sure to wear rubber gloves.’_ He thought for a moment, then went to the kitchen. He scrambled under the sink until he pulled out a pair of yellow gloves. “Does this work?” He called out, holding the gloves.  
  
“I think so.” Connor responded, still a little dazed at this whole scene. When Hank came back over to the couch, his gloves were on.

“Okay, now. Where were we?” Hank asked, and Connor took the lead and pulled him back into a kiss. Hank’s gloved hand made its way back towards the still-open panel. He stuck his hand in, gently, moving past the blue wires. Connor tensed in Hank’s arms, moaning softly into Hank’s mouth.  
  
So far, so good.

He twisted a couple of wires around his index finger. Connor broke the kiss, letting out a moan he wasn’t even sure he could make. Hank smirked at this, watching Connor come undone in the glow of the television.  
  
“So glad I get to see you like this.” Hank said softly, pulling at a loop of wires. “It’s even better than listening to you.”

Connor couldn’t get words out, his eyes were pressed shut, his eyebrows knotted together. All that was coming out of his mouth were formless moans. He started to shake. Hank mixed his fingers in deeper to the port, tugging at the thin wires.  
  
_“Hank!”_ Connor yelled, then he put a hand over his mouth.

Hank laughed. “Babe, you can be as loud as you want here.” He ran his fingers along the ridges of the wires, then tugged them again.  
  
“ _AH_!” He shouted. “Again, please do it again.”

Hank, being a gentleman, obliged. He tugged the wires three times in a row.  
  
The orgasm seemed to explode out of Connor’s system, feeling different when it was through the hands of someone else. The only thing that was keeping him tethered to the Earth was the feeling of Hank’s strong arm around his waist. His eyelids fluttered open. Everything he touched felt electric. At some point during his climax, he had wrapped his arms around Hank’s shoulders. He didn’t want to unwrap himself, and Hank didn’t squirm from under him.  
  
“Hey, Con.” Hank asked softly. “You okay?”

He smelled Hank’s cologne through his olfactory sensors. “Yes.” He answered, his mind still not connected to the moment.

“Good. Do you wanna go again?” Hank took off his blue tinged gloves and ran a hand through his hair.

Connor closed his panel. “I’m incredibly satisfied, thank you.” He reluctantly unwrapped himself from Hank.  
  
“That’s good, that’s good.” Hank covertly rubbed at his persistent erection. All of Connor’s moaning really did him in… “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna--”

The android scanned Hank’s vitals. “...You’re aroused.” Connor said as if he was solving a mystery.   
  
“Of _course_ I am!” Hank gestured to Connor’s...everything. “How could I not be?”  
  
“Where are you going, then?” Connor’s eyes seemed so concerned.  
  
Hank gestured to the bathroom. “Just to take care of...this.”

“You don’t want me to help you?”

“No, no, it’s not that at all.” Hank put a firm hand on Connor’s knee. Well, it was partially that. He didn’t want to have the world’s strangest handjob. At least not tonight. And besides, Connor just had an orgasm, why bother him with _this?_ “I’m just going to do this, and we can--”

“I want to watch.” Connor cut in.   
  
“You _what_?”  
  
He shrugged. “It’s really not all that surprising, is it? You just watched me, and I want to watch you.”

Can’t argue with that. And really, his dick was in no mood to argue right now.  
  
Before he sat down, he motioned for Sumo to leave the room. “Sumo, out.”  
  
The big dog lumbered off to Hank’s room. Connor looked perplexed.

“What? I don’t want my dog to be in the same room as me jerking off!”

After making a mental note to ask Hank about that later, Connor scooted to the other side of the couch. Hank sat down, unbuttoning his pants.  
  
He cleared his throat as he pushed his jeans halfway down his legs. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to completely strip down, so he compromised. He propped himself up with a pillow, getting a good look at Connor. He touched himself through his boxers, feeling self conscious.  
  
Hank watched Connor, who was drinking in every moment of the scene. It was almost as if--

“You better not be filming this.” Hank warned, pausing his hand.

“It’s going straight to my memory banks. I won’t share it with anyone.”  
  
Hank was honestly too horny to care. “S’that so? Well,” he took out his cock and he could have sworn for a second he saw Connor’s LED turn red. “I’ll have to put on quite a show for you, then.”  
  
Hank climaxed not too long afterwards, eyes fixated entirely on Connor. Connor’s LED circled a bright blue, combating with the soft glow of the television.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey, Con,” Hank said after cleaning up the mess he made. “It’s getting late.”  
  
Connor seemed surprised. It was such a change of tone after the sexually charged events of the night. “I could call a taxi, if you want me to leave.”

“Nah, it’s not _that_ ,” Hank crumpled up the tissues and pulled up his jeans. He got up, throwing the tissues away. “I was just wondering if...well, maybe this is too forward.”  
  
Connor stood as well, walking out to the kitchen. “Hank,” he folded his arms, “You gave me an orgasm and I _watched you_ have an orgasm. I doubt whatever you’re about to say is too forward.”

Hank turned away from the trash can. He saw Connor smiling back at him, and he laughed. Connor chuckled as well. “What I was going to ask is if...well. Would you wanna sleep here? Or whatever you do in place of sleeping?”

Connor’s LED turned yellow. He unfolded his arms, his fingers twitching. He needed his coin.

“I mean, unless you have plans tomorrow, or somethin’.” Hank felt his cheeks get warm.

His LED circling back to blue, Connor answered, “I think that would be nice.”

Hank smiled warmly, despite himself. “Okay, well, that’s good. I’m fuckin’ beat.”

“I feel the same,” Connor sighed, despite not feeling tiredness in the way that humans do. The way he felt before going into rest mode was much like a movie on pause, or a skipping record, or a glitchy phone. Although, right now, he felt more like a computer that needed too many updates. His limbs felt tired.   
  
Hank patted him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get ready for bed. You know where my bedroom is.”

Connor nodded, turning to go off to Hank’s room. “Ah, Sumo!” Hank heard him say excitedly. Hank laughed to himself, shaking his head slightly.  
  
He shut the bathroom door, taking off his clothes until he was down to his t shirt and boxers. He scratched his belly under his shirt, yawning. He didn’t realize how tired he was until he was cleaning himself up after his orgasm.  
  
And, _fuck_ , what an orgasm. He’s going to remember the way Connor looked at him as he stroked himself, brown eyes taking in all of Hank. His eyes would move from Hank’s fast moving hand, to his face, and then back down again. It made Hank feel...feel…  
  
Feel _attractive._ _Hot_ , even.  
  
Hank shook his head, not wanting to get too ahead of himself. He brushed his teeth, eyes deliberately turned away from the post-it notes. _Still need to take those down,_ Hank thought. _One of these days…_

When Hank walked into his bedroom, he saw Connor sprawled out next to Sumo, who was soaking up all the attention. As if Hank didn’t give him enough attention.  
  
Hank looked back at Connor. He was only wearing his boxer briefs and a plain white shirt. Hank’s eyes darted over to the closet, finding Connor’s clothes hung up pristinely.

A strange thought struck Hank.  
  
This was the most they’ve seen of each other until now.  
  
Well, the most Hank had seen of Connor, forgetting for a moment that Connor saw everything below the belt. Hank made sure to keep his shirt pulled down. Not yet, too intimate.

“Sumo is so loveable!” Connor said, propping up on one arm as his other scratched at the dog’s belly.  
  
“Yeah, he’s a real peach.” Hank said sarcastically. “Except when he’s on my side of the bed!”

“Sorry boy,” Connor said sadly, giving Sumo a gentle budge. Sumo let out a _boof_ and jumped off the bed, finding a spot near the heating vent.  
  
Hank swiped off the stray dog hair from the comforter before lifting up a leg to get into bed. “What’s that?” He heard Connor say.

“What’s _what_?” Hank asked.  
  
Connor reached over and pressed his fingers over Hank’s thigh. His tattoo.  
  
“S’a tattoo I got decades ago. A four-leaf clover. What fucking good that did.” Hank muttered the last part, getting under the covers.  
  
“It looks nice.” Connor said, looking at Hank.  
  
Hank scoffed. “It’s faded as shit, but I still like it.”  
  
“Can I see it again?” Connor asked.  
  
Hank sighed. “Is this going to turn into something else?” 

“No, unless you want it to.”  
  
“The _only_ thing I wanna do right now is go to bed, but here.” Hank untucked his leg from the covers, tugging up his baggy boxers slightly for Connor to see.  
  
Connor got up from his side of the bed, sitting on his knees. With a gentle hand, he traced around the linework of the tattoo. It was almost too gentle of a touch; Hank’s leg kept twitching.

“I do like it. I wasn’t just saying that.” Connor watched his hand go down the slope of the clover, watching with reverence.  
  
“I know you never just _say_ anything just to _say_ it.” Hank placed a hand on Connor’s. He’d traced over the tattoo enough for one night. “I’m gonna get the light.”  
  
Hank clicked off the bedside light. Connor slipped under the covers as well, folding his arms.  
  
“Are you not one for cuddling?”

“What?”  
  
“You’re just gonna sleep like you’re in a coffin?”

“I’ve never been in a coffin, but I always enter stasis like this.”  
  
Hank was too tired to care. “Okay. Good night, Con.”  
  
“Good night, Hank.” Connor said before shutting his eyes. It wasn’t long until Hank crept over to Connor’s side of the bed.  
  
\--  
  
When Hank woke up the next morning, he had his arm slung around Connor’s waist. Being careful, he pulled his arm back to his side of the bed. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up slowly. He couldn’t help but look over at Connor, still in sleep mode or stasis or whatever the fuck it was called. He looked so peaceful. Like a mummy. 

Connor’s eyes shot open. “Good morning, Hank.” He said, no grogginess or fatigue in his voice.

Hank sat back. “Jesus!” He said, keeping his wary eyes on Connor.   
  
“I’m sorry, did my waking up scare you?”

“Fuckin’ clearly!” Hank said, clutching his chest.

“Your heart rate, although a little elevated, is normal.” Connor said, flicking his eyes down to Hank’s chest.

“Just...can you open your eyes _slower_ or something next time?”

“I’m not sure if I can, but I’ll try it.” He smiled. “‘ _Next time._ ’”

Hank rolled his eyes. “All right, well I’m gonna make some breakfast.” He stood, groaning softly. He needed to get a mattress topper or something, especially if he’s going to have certain androids in his bed like this again.

_Again._

_Next time._

As in “making breakfast,” Hank meant that he was going to have some cereal. Sumo heard the _dink dink dink_ of the cereal pieces hitting the bowl, thinking it was his own food dish. “Sumo, _get_. You’re getting fed later.”

After giving a sniff test on the milk (it passed, but barely), Hank splashed some on top of his cereal. He took a look outside as he munched his cereal. It was nice out, unseasonably warm for winter. Hank couldn’t complain about the weather, although deep down he knew it was because the earth was dying. He groaned, taking another bite.

Hank heard Connor’s footsteps. “I hope you slept well, Hank.”

“Well _enough_ .” He said around a mouthful of already soggy cereal. He turned to face Connor, looking just as perfect as he did when he was sleeping. Sometimes it hurt to look at him, because he always looked like _that_.

“It’s nearly sixty degrees out!” Connor said after a scan of Detroit’s weather. “It would be a perfect day for you to take Sumo out on a--”

Hank tried to stop Connor from saying the “W” word. He really did. Unfortunately, Sumo’s big ears perked up and he bounded over to Connor, “boofing” a few times.

Hank drank up the remaining sugary milk and placed his bowl in the sink. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” Connor looked at Hank, worried. Despite his concern, he couldn’t help but give Sumo some gentle pats.  
  
Hank grabbed the leash from the shelf. “We gotta take him on a walk.”

\--

“I thought we were just going around your neighborhood.” Connor watched the houses in the side mirror disappear over the horizon.  
  
“Nah, that’s fuckin’ boring. I do that all the time. I found out about this dog park not too far from my place.”

Connor looked back at Sumo, who was excitedly watching the cars go the opposite way.

The Detroit dog park was actually something Hank and his ex did together. And then she served him papers, and he took Sumo, and...well. Here he was. It was a nice park, though. Always friendly people.  
  
After getting a leash on him, Sumo led the way. Connor insisted on walking him, which was proving to be more than amusing for Hank. “You sure you got it? I don’t want him to yank out your arm, or something.”

“I’m okay. But even if he did pull out my arm, I could easily reattach it without assistance.”

Hank tried not to think of an armless Connor, struggling to connect on his blood-soaked arm back to his socket. “...Good to know.” He opened the gate for them.  
  
The gate opening for Sumo was like the Kentucky Derby with the way he took off into the vast field. “Sumo, _wait_ !” Connor called out, struggling to unhook him. Hank leaned over and helped unleash the dog.  
  
They watched Sumo take off, getting some much-needed exercise. “I’ve never seen him _run_ like that!” Connor said, amazed.  
  
Thinking on the short time Connor’s actually _known_ Sumo, Hank laughed. “You met him last night.”  
  
“Let me rephrase it, then. I’m _surprised_ he can run like that.”

Hank patted Connor’s back. “Wait five minutes; he’ll be whining to leave then.” He looked around the park, seeing a couple of other people and a family. Plenty of benches were available for the taking. “Wanna have a seat somewhere?”

“Sure!”  
  
The two sat down, watching Sumo start to slow in his running. He played around with a border collie and a rottweiler for a while, one of the other dog’s owners throwing a frisbee to them.

“How are you feeling?” Hank asked, tearing his attention away from his dog.  
  
“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering how you feel.”

“How do _you_ feel?”

“Fine.” Hank answered a little too quickly. “Just peachy.”

Connor looked skeptical. “I find that hard to believe.”  
  
Hank slung an arm along the back of the bench, fingers barely touching Connor’s arm.  “I’m _fine_.” He said again, lower and more sure-sounding.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, directing their attention to watching the dogs play, but it didn’t feel awkward. Connor tried not to obsess over the feeling of Hank’s fingertips drawing circles on his arm.  
  
“This is nice.” Connor said, looking back over at Hank.

Hank glanced over, embarrassed by his pink cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Without them getting too comfortable, Sumo lumbered over. It was maybe longer than five minutes, but he was still whining. Hank sighed, slipping his arm away from Connor. “ _Fine_ , Sumo. We’re leaving.”

Connor checked his internal clock. It was the early afternoon. He should probably do some overtime work on the case Reed asked him to check.

“Oh, I should probably be going home.” Connor said sadly. “Work.”  
  
“Do you have anything at my place you need to get?” Hank asked, leashing Sumo up again.

Connor gestured to himself. “I have everything.” His LED started to blink as he called a taxi service.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“What?”

“Are you calling for a ride home?”  
  
Connor cocked his head to the side. His LED stopped blinking. “Is there an issue?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Hank laughed, turning to go back to his car. “I can give you a ride.”  
  
Connor ran his thumb along the tips of his nails. “Thank you, Hank.”

\--

“Well, this is me.” Connor looked out at the high rise apartment, not seeing the top of the building from Hank’s car.   
  
“Yeah, sure is.”  
  
Sumo’s tail thumps in the back seat, a measure of time for how much Connor doesn’t want to leave.  
  
“One day I’ll invite you in. It’s just--” Connor cast his eyes back at the St. Bernard. “My apartment doesn’t allow dogs. Or cats, for that matter. Probably not even fish--” Connor’s eyelids fluttered for a moment. “Nope, no animals. Not even fish.”

“What a fuckin’ bummer.” With each conversation he had with Connor about his living situations, he only got more depressed about the whole situation.

Connor looked out at the apartment, and then back at Hank. “When am I going to see you again?”

Good question. Actually, not really. It’s not like Hank’s social life was anything extravagant. Not wanting to sound too open, he said, “Not sure yet. I’ll give you a call.” He closed the gap between him and Connor for a quick kiss. Then another quick kiss. Then another, slightly longer kiss--  
  
Sumo’s tail thumped against the car window. Hank groaned against Connor’s mouth. “All right, I gotta get going.”

Connor nodded, then smiled. “I had a really nice time with you, Hank.”

Sumo let out a small _woof_. “And _you too_ , Sumo.” Connor gave him a quick head pat before kissing Hank on the cheek.  
  
“Hey, uh, good luck on your work, or whatever.” Hank said as Connor left the car. “If you get stressed out, you know I’m just a call away.”

Connor’s steady pace stuttered for a moment. “Ah--thank you Hank!” He called out, then made his way to the front entrance. Hank waited until Connor opened the door, an old holdover from going on dates as a teen. Sumo whined from the backseat.

“I know, boy.” Hank said, putting his car into drive. “I miss him already.”

\--  
  
Connor and Markus walked around the park for ten whopping minutes until he finally had to know. “So, how did it go?”

Connor looked at the snow dusting the dead leaves in the park. He picked his words wisely, reading between the lines of Markus’ question. “We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Markus chuckled, putting his hands in his coat pockets. “I _wasn’t_ asking that, but good to know.” He was happy to finally be reunited with his grey coat despite the dog hair on it. It smelled of a cologne he knew Connor didn’t wear, but he could absolutely guess who it could be. Connor offered to take it to the dry cleaners, but Carl could take care of it free of charge. The perks of knowing everyone in Detroit…

“I saw my first movie-- _Casablanca_ , I met his dog--Sumo, and he made me come with his hands in my neck port.” Connor said matter-of-factly, deciding not to be coy. Coyness never got him anywhere, not in his personal life or work life.  
  
Markus stopped in his tracks. “He _what_?”  
  
Connor shrugged. “He’s been making me come for the past few months. This isn’t any different.”  
  
“Okay,” Markus smiled. “I don’t know _where_ this casual attitude came from about all of this, but I’m--you’re serious?”

“I am.” Connor couldn’t help but smile. “It felt great.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad he knew what to do. Any instructing?”

“He printed off the CyberLife manual months ago.”  
  
“That’s--” Markus made a face as if he were thinking about Hank printing off hundreds of pages. “--weirdly sweet.”

“Yeah,” Connor continued to walk, and Markus matched up with his pace. “It is.” He decided to leave it at that, not wanting to reveal the show Hank put on for him. Even though it was only a Tuesday night, Connor had watched the video he took of Hank about thirty times. Each time he watched it, Connor got something new from it. The method that Hank touched himself, the glazed look in his eyes, the way he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his jeans sinking further down to the floor as he neared climax…  
  
Connor was a connoisseur of that video. Besides _Casablanca_ , _that_ was his favorite movie. Something only for him, locked deep down in his memory banks.

He felt Markus’ hand on his shoulder. “Connor, are you there?”  
  
Connor blinked a few times. “Yes, I’m fine.”  
  
“You didn’t malfunction or anything, but...you just went blank.”  
  
“Sorry, I was--” _Thinking about Hank_. “--I got a message from my partner at work.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Ah, Gavin.” Connor told Markus more than enough about Detective Reed. Before Hank, he was the only other human he talked about (in a very different way, that is).

“He wanted me to check over this case he worked on before I got hired in, and now he’s--” _White lie, white lie_. “He’s hounding me for the files to be on his desk tomorrow morning.”

“I’m _so_ glad I don’t have your job,” Markus said with a sigh. It was funny; Connor thought the same thing whenever Markus discussed meeting with congressmen and barrelling through red tape for android’s rights. “Do you have to go and work?”

Connor waved his hand. “It’s fine, it’s all done. Let’s finish this walk.”

They looped around the park until the street lights glowed through the falling snow.

\--

Hank was halfway through blazing through his invoices when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around. “Ah, Judy.” He said, pausing his absurdly loud music. Anything to drown out the sounds of his prick of a boss micromanaging the fuck out of the office.

Judy pursed her lips into a flat line. She was around the same age as Hank, but in a lower position in the office. “Office Manager,” whatever that means. She often served as Derek’s secretary, much to her chagrin. If she didn’t resent Hank so much, they could have been friends. Hank tries not to let it bother him.

“Hank,” she started, trying to keep her eyes from looking at his bright paisley shirt, “What were you going to bring in for Chris next Monday? I didn’t see your response.”

Hank looked at her, confused. “What?”

She sighed. “Did you get my email? I sent it first thing Monday morning.”

“Let me just--try to--” Hank started to search for Judy’s name in his inbox. “Huh. I must’ve deleted it.”

Looking at him with annoyance, she said, “Chris Miller’s wife is pregnant and the billing department is going to have a surprise baby shower for him. Are you going to give him a gift, or money?”

Hank thought for a moment, stroking his beard. He didn’t really even _know_ Chris. He said “hi” to him, sure, but that was as far as the conversations went with him. Despite the surface level friendship, he thought about Chris and Mrs. Chris reading to their child before bedtime. There was his answer. “Yeah, uh, I’ll get a gift for him.”

Judy jotted “gift” down next to Hank’s name. “Okay, I got you down. And remember--next Monday.”  
  
Hank nodded, giving a flimsy salute before putting his earbuds back in. The death metal resumed.  
  
\--

“Hey Con, are you busy?”

It was a Friday night. Gavin and Connor were working late, searching a crime scene for evidence. An old woman died in her house early Thursday. Initially, it was assumed that the cause of death was natural, as she was under the covers from the neck down. When officers pulled the blankets back, they saw a number of stab wounds in her torso. It looked like she was stabbed with a knitting needle. “Fuckin’ cliche.” Gavin muttered, looking around for the weapon.

Connor stepped outside from the scene, trying to find a quieter spot. “Actually, I am right now. I can talk for a minute.”

“Ah, you’re on a case?”

“Correct.” Connor looked back at the small house wrapped in police tape and crawling with officers.

“Okay, I’ll be quick. Do you wanna go to the bookstore with me tomorrow? Need to pick out something for my coworker.”

“Oh, is it his birthday?”

“Nah, his wife is pregnant. I need some assistance picking out a good book for a baby.”

Connor laughed softly. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at finding baby books.”

“That makes two of us, then. Want to at least come along? We can go to other shops, if you’d like.”

“Of course. I’d love to."

“Hey, tin can!” Gavin yelled out of the house. “Get in here!”

“Hank, I need to go.”  
  
“Yeah, I think I heard your asshole partner yelling for ya. Text me about what time is good tomorrow.”

“I will, Hank. Good night.”

“Good luck solving those murders, Con.”

Connor hung up and ducked under the police tape, going back inside.

“Jesus, what the fuck were you doing?” Gavin pulled on a fresh pair of rubber gloves.  
  
“I got a call that I had to answer.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Like someone would call _you_ on a Friday night.”

Connor preconstructed punching Gavin in the face as he asked, “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, dipshit. The murder weapon.” He held up the knitting needle. “The killer stashed it in the wastebasket under the sink. Gonna send it to the lab and have it dusted for fingerprints.”

Connor folded his arms, inspecting the needle. The end of it was blunt; the killer must have had a vendetta. Probably…

“Do you suspect it was a family member?”  
  
“Has to be.” Reed put the needle in an evidence bag. “The victim didn’t live with anyone. Her husband died years ago according to the obituary clipped to the fridge.”  
  
“A little odd for a woman her age to be living alone.”

“I’ll say.” Gavin passed the bag to another officer. “There’s probably family nearby. You know, they had to stop by to take care of her, maybe it got to be too much, then--” He mimed stabbing motions at Connor, who kept his expression blank.

“Have you informed the family yet?”  
  
“Not yet. I’m thinking about... _withholding_ some information from them.”

Connor cocked a brow. “You mean by not telling them she’s dead?”  
  
Gavin shot Connor a finger gun, which he found to be in poor taste on a crime scene. “Bingo. We need to find the next of kin.”

\--

Around 3 am, Hank’s phone pinged in the night.  
  
He’d fallen asleep on the couch again, rewatching an old western he’d seen a million times over. He groaned, pulling himself up in the soft glow of the television light. He’ll be feeling this tomorrow; he fell asleep without a pillow, resting his head on the armrest of the couch. Hopefully he won’t have to wear a neck brace for tomorrow.

Hank reached for his phone on the floor. It must have fallen off the couch sometime during the night. Maybe Sumo’s tail swiped at it. Ah well, it still works. His tired eyes adjusted to the screen.

_Hi Hank, I know you’re sleeping right now, but I’m contacting you to confirm going to the store with you tomorrow._

Even in his sleep-addled state, Hank laughed at the wording of the text. Leave it to Connor to always formalize date plans…

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he decided against it. If he sent something now, Connor might chastise him for being up for so late. That, or he’ll stay up texting Connor and his sleep schedule will be shot. He clicked his phone’s lock button, then lumbered off to his bed. He was right back to sleep as soon as he hit the pillow.  
  
\--

Hank woke up again, at 9 am, to the sound of his phone ringing. _Connor_. He cleared his throat a few times, trying to dislodge the sleep from his voice, then answered. “Good morning.” He said, sounding awake as possible.  
  
“Oh, good morning Hank. I tried calling a few times, but you didn’t answer. Were you asleep?”

“ _Connor_ , what kind of man do you take me for? One that sleeps in past 9 am on the weekends?”

“Well...yes. Although I was eager to hear your response about tom--today, I mean.”

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

“I assure you, there’s no reasonable need for androids like myself to sleep. But no, I did not enter stasis last night. I was working on a case.”

“Ah. So who did it? Husband, wife? Boyfriend, girlfriend?” Hank knew plenty about Occam’s Razor.  
  
“Close, but not quite. It was the son.”

“Jesus. Thank fuck I don’t have any kids. One thing you’re raising them, then the next they’re killing you in your home.” Hank walked out to the kitchen, desperate for coffee. He rolled his head from side to side, grunting slightly.

“...What are you doing, Hank?” He sounded so interested.

“I’m just? I’m stretching, cause I--” Then Hank’s brain finally clicked as to why Connor asked. “Oh, Jesus, Con. I’m not jerking off!”

Hank could tell Connor was smiling on the other side. “Just thought I would check.”

Turning on the coffee brewer, Hank sighed. “Okay, you horny robot. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“First, and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I’m not a robot. Second, any time is good for me.”

Hank chuckled. “I know you’re not. I just love how annoyed you get. It’s cute.”

“You think my annoyance is cute?”

“Only for minor things. I’d hate to see you, you know, like _actually_ pissed off.”

“I don’t think that’ll happen.”  
  
_You never know_ , Hank thought. “How ‘bout I pick you up at 1?” 

“Fine with me. Maybe you could see my apartment.”

“Will I even be able to _fit_ inside that shoebox?”

Connor scoffed. “You will.”

“If you’re _that_ sure, I’ll see you at 1.”

“Okay. My apartment is 1247.”

“Aye aye.” The coffee maker dinged. “Bye for now, Con.”

“Bye, Hank.”

Hank poured himself a cup of coffee, covering up the bitterness with as much creamer as his mug could hold. He looked outside at the snow covering the ground of his backyard. Maybe he’ll have a reason to wear one of his garish sweaters, although the heat’ll probably be cranked to the max in the stores. It was a risk he was willing to take.  
  
Hank did his usual Saturday routine. Crossword, sports channel, walk Sumo, casual masturbation, shower time, change into clothes. Typical, but not always in that order.  
  
Hank looked in the dresser drawer for his sweaters. He picked out a tasteful Nordic patterned sweater, probably knit with wool from the Gods. It wasn’t itchy and it brought out his eyes. Win/win.

Before he knew it, it was after noon. He quickly ate some lunch, let Sumo out for a second time, and started his car.

\--

There was a knock on Connor’s door. He finished watering his succulent, then adjusted his dress shirt sleeves before answering the door. He looked through the peephole. Sure enough, it was Hank.  
  
“Hank, hello!” Connor said, swinging the door open. Hank’s hair blew in the wind with the force of the door. “I hope you found my place all right.”

“I’m just glad there’s a bunch of good elevators in this place. Back when I was living in downtown Detroit, I had to fuckin’ take ten flights of stairs--” Hank shook his head. It wasn’t nice to immediately start complaining. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

“You are. I’m glad you’re finally seeing my apartment.”  
  
Hank looked around. Connor was pretty accurate in his description of the place. It really _was_ as small and bare as he explained. He looked out the window, the cars on the street looking like ants. “I’m assuming your _second_ window is in your bedroom?”  
  
Connor directed Hank to his bedroom as if he were a game show presenter. “Yes, right through here.”

The king-sized bed _did_ take up most of the room, but it was meticulously made. Not a crease on the bedspread. Hank couldn’t help but imagine Connor on the bed, writing about with his hands looping around his insides. He cleared his throat as a way to shake the image from his head. “Ah, there’s your window.”

“I really am lucky to have a set up like this.” Connor seemed endlessly proud, but Hank gave him a glance as if to say, “Are you kidding me? _This_ ?”  
  
Instead, his mouth formed the words. “You are lucky, sure.” They look at each other for a beat. “You want to go?”

“Yes, that would be good. I think my tour of the apartment was shorter than your tour of your house.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.” Hank said sarcastically, opening the front door.

\--

“Do you think a baby would like this?” Hank held up a cloth booklet.  
  
Connor examined the book. “Maybe. Although I think an infant would just chew on the pages.”

Hank set the book down. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He ran a finger along the spines of the storybooks. Surely Chris already had those.  
  
“Maybe you could get the baby books for them to read when they’re older?”

“Why, so the baby’s parents can just put it in storage for years until they forget about them, and then toss them or donate them?”

Connor shrugged. “It was just a suggestion.”   
  
Hank put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “I know, I’m sorry for snapping.”

“Are you stressed about being around children’s books?”

“No, I’m--” He inhaled, then exhaled slowly. Maybe he was. He remembered being at the store with his ex. She gravitated towards all the kid’s books, thinking about reading a story to their future child every night to inspire a lifelong love of reading. And then, well...no future child. Hank’s hand dropped from the shelf. “Maybe a little.” He said, embarrassed.  
  
“Well, what kind of books did your parents read to you when you were a child?”

Hank thought back to when he was a kid, decades upon decades ago. He looked past the nights where he didn’t get a bedtime story, past the nights of hearing his parents yelling, and then he remembered the book he always chose for his mother to read to him. _Goodnight Moon_.

“That’s it!” Hank searched the shelves until he found the book. The cover hadn’t changed in all these years, thank fuck, or else Hank would have to write a strongly worded email to the publishers. He wrapped Connor in a one armed hug. “Thank you, Con.”

“I’m not sure how much I exactly helped, but...you’re welcome.” Connor looked at the back of the book, struck by the illustration of a mother rabbit sitting in her rocking chair. “I think your coworker will like it.”

“And the baby, probably.” He flicked through the pages of the book, transporting back to when he was a kid. He felt a warmth in his chest, watching the scene of the book darken as the story neared to a close. “I’m gonna go buy this.”  
  
“Okay, I’m gonna look around a little bit.” Connor turned, navigating through all sorts of books.

With the book purchased and bagged, Hank looked through the aisles to find Connor again. Eventually, he found a telltale blue LED in the least expected section of the store.  
  
The romance section.

Well, maybe religion would have been more far fetched for him.

Connor snapped the book closed when he saw Hank’s expression. “Oh, you’re already done!”

“What are you reading?” Hank asked, grinning.  
  
Connor fumbled in putting it back on the shelf. “Nothing, it’s just a novel I picked up at the library a few weeks ago--”  
  
Weaseling his way between Connor and the bookshelf, Hank found the book that he was reading. _A Mysterious Return_. The cover had a couple in the throes of passion, the man’s hair blowing just as luxuriously in the wind as the woman’s. The title and plot could have been anything; everyone knows what they’re getting when they pick up something like this.

Connor fiddled with his coin. “It’s not the most well-written book, but I enjoy it.”

Hank gave Connor a look, flipping through the pages of the book. “Didn’t think you’d be into something like this.” He muttered, trying to find an especially dirty passage of the book.

“You told me about the joy of reading a physical book--”  
  
Hank cleared his throat. “ _‘Guinevere pressed her mound down Lancelot’s strong hips,’”_ he started, reading it in his most sultry voice. Connor looked around for any passerbys. _“‘She sunk down upon him, enveloping him in her warmth. Lancelot kissed and caressed every curve of her body as he thrusted his manhood into her, truly knowing her inside and out.’_ Well, that’s quite _something_.” He closed the book again.  
  
Connor paused for a moment, LED spinning to yellow, then quickly back to blue. “On second thought, this is the best piece of literature I’ve ever read.”

Hank laughed, lightly shoving Connor. “All right, all right. Since we’re out, what do you want to do?”

\--

They walked around the outside of the Detroit shopping center, neither of them having a desire to buy anything else. The two of them walked hand in hand, watching the snow fall down peacefully. The snowfall dampened the sounds of the bustling city, and for some moments it felt like they were the only two around in the centre square.

It wasn’t until the late evening that Hank dropped Connor off. “Hank--” Connor started, facing him. Hank rolled his eyes and placed a kiss on his lips. It was incredible how fast Connor learned to adapt to Hank’s style of kissing, syncing along perfectly. A small noise escaped Connor’s mouth, not a protest, but as if he was trying to get out of the kiss to say something else.

When the kiss ended, Hank whispered, “You don’t have to ask to kiss me every time.”

“Oh, I know. I...wanted to tell you something.” Connor said. Hank saw Connor’s reflection of the LED turn yellow. Already, Hank’s heart was in his throat.

“Okay,” he coughed. “What is it?”

It was an agonizingly long pause, Connor finding an intense interest in the crumbs on the floor of the car. He raised his head, just a little, focusing on the perpetually dancing hula girl on his dashboard. Then, finally, after maybe an eternity, Connor looked back at Hank. “Hank, I think...I think I love you.”

And Hank’s blood ran cold.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: descriptions of an anxiety attack; gavin reed

Connor’s smile quickly faded. “Hank?” He put his hand on Hank’s. “Are you okay?”

Hank blinked a few times, re-adjusting himself to look back at Connor. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He placed his hand over Connor’s.   
  
Connor focused on the lines of Hank’s hand over his own smooth hand. “You--you don’t have to say it back, right now. I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

He nodded in response. “Thanks.” It was all he could grit out at this time.  
  
Connor glanced out the window, looking back at his apartment. “Well, I should probably go.” He said, then placed a quick kiss on Hank’s lips. It was so sudden that Hank didn’t even have a chance to purse his lips or react. “Good night, Hank.”  
  
“Night!” He called out as Connor carefully closed the car door. Just as before, he waited until Connor stepped inside his apartment, then he started his car. His heart was pounding. His car felt like it was closing in on him. He was sweating despite his heat not being on. “Fuck!” He yelled.

 _This isn’t happening. This_ isn’t _happening,_ Hank thought, his mouth getting dry.

He kept thinking about the _way_ Connor said it. How long the build-up was before he said it. His LED…

His stomach lurched. All of it was too much for Hank. The rest of the drive he was on autopilot, already mentally planning exactly what to do when he got home. He parked his car askew in the driveway and hustled inside the house. He rummaged through his cabinets for a bottle of Black Lamb, untouched.  
  
Many hours later, he woke up on the bathroom floor. He retched from the smell of old vomit caked into his shirt.

Hank vomited, again, into the toilet this time. A little more civilized.

He tore off his shirt and boxers, throwing them into the laundry basket. After thinking for a moment, he put them in the trash. He walked over to the shower, pointedly ignoring his reflection and those _fucking_ Post-It notes. He turned the water on as hot as it could go, standing under the brutal spray. He rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars. Tried as he could, he couldn’t forget what happened earlier. _“Hank, I think...I think I love you.”_ He couldn’t get the way he said it out of his mind. The concentration, the tenderness, the consideration for Hank...it almost, it almost seemed like Connor actually _did--_  
  
Hank tilted his head back, letting the hot water run down his face. _Anything_ to stop that thought before it was completed, just circling around in his head like a record.  
  
Hank switched the water to cold for as long as he could bear it. One thought he was okay with thinking, and it’s something he’d thought many times in his later years:

_“Why would anyone love me?”_

\----

“I told Hank how I felt.” Connor announced to Markus and Simon the next afternoon. For once, Connor invited them over to his tiny apartment. This way, they were also in the heart of Detroit. Connor figured if they felt cooped up in his space that they could take a walk around town.

Simon seemed puzzled by this. He leaned forward on the couch, looking at Connor from across the coffee table. “How...how _do_ you feel about him?”

Connor looked at Markus, sitting back on Connor’s couch. “You didn’t tell Simon?”

“Connor, I had no idea about _any_ of this.” He spread his hands out. “I wasn’t consulted for this.”

All of this seemed to slip Connor’s mind. He’d been getting pointers from his friends for so long, it was unusual for them _not_ to know about his next step. “Okay, let me back up then--”

“I _do_ know you slept with him, but didn’t have sex with him.” Simon smiled.  
  
“Oh,” he sighed, “of _course_ you’d know that.”

Markus sat up a little straighter. “I figured it would be fine to tell Si.”

“...’ _Si_?’” Simon looked at Markus.

“What, do you not like it? I mean, Hank calls Connor ‘Con,’ so why can’t I call you Si?”

Simon laughed. “No one’s ever given me a nickname. It’s cute.” He put his hand on Markus’. “Does that mean I can call you ‘Mark?’”

Markus smiled back at Simon, his two-colored eyes sparkling in the light. “...No.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t like it!” Markus said, leaning closer to Simon. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Simon, nodding, directed his attention back to Connor. “Anyway, so I know about last weekend is all I meant to say.”

Connor was amused by the back and forth of Simon and Markus. It reminded him of a less crass version of him and Hank. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Hank, in even the smallest ways. He placed his hands on the table, fingers folded. “I told Hank that I loved him.”

There’s a momentary gesture from Simon. A small twitch of the eyebrows in surprise. Something so minor that Connor almost didn’t catch it. “You did?” Simon asked.  
  
In the same instance, Markus asked, “You _do_?”

Connor pressed his fingers down tighter onto his knuckles. “Yes, and yes.” He answered. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Should I not have?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Simon seemed to notice Connor’s fingers pushing down hard enough for his skin projection to melt away. “I’m just a little surprised. You two met a few weeks ago.”

“In person, yes, but we’ve been contacting each other for months.” Connor’s eyes focused on the specks of dust left on the table. “I mean, when did you two first say it?”

Markus and Simon looked at each other to think about it. “It was at the beginning of this year.”  
  
“New Year’s!” Simon chimed in.  
  
“Right, right. I told him on New Year’s.”

Connor did quick calculations. “That was only after a couple of months then.”

“Yes, but--” Simon gestured to Markus’ hand. “--interfacing certainly helps in filling in the gaps of getting to know someone.”

“That and leading a revolution…” Markus muttered.  
  
“That too.” Simon smiled at Markus. “Life-changing circumstances brought us to confessing our love for one another.”

“Saying you love someone on New Year’s.” Connor mused for a moment. “A very _human_ concept.”

Markus shrugged. “Worked for us.”

A lull fell between the three of them.

Simon steepled his fingers. “How did…how exactly did Hank react?”

Connor relaxed his fingers, watching his skin flood back over his casing. “He seemed surprised as well. Maybe a little scared.”

“Did he say it back?”  
  
Connor shook his head. “I told him that he didn’t have to say it now. Whenever he’s ready is fine with me.”

“...Hm.” Markus pondered.  
  
“Was--should I not have said that?”

“It’s not about what you _said_ , it’s about what Hank _didn’t_ say.”

“I monitored his heart rate and it was rising after I told him, but I figured it was nerves.” Connor explained, trying to quell his own worries.

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Markus. Simon, on the other hand, remained positive. “Maybe he was just nervous? He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”  
  
Connor nodded, taking his hands off the table. With a new amount of concern that he hadn’t had before, he asked, “Do you want to go for a walk? I need to get out of this apartment for a while.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Markus jumped up and grabbed his coat. Simon pulled on his windbreaker.

\--

_Hey Hank, I hope you’re having a nice Sunday._

\--

Hank woke up in the early afternoon, feeling like shit.

After his shower of pain and anguish, he dove into bed. He wasn’t exactly sure what time he came to, but the light was just starting to peek through his window. Thank god he has Sunday to recoup. Unfortunately, it’s a routine he’s all too familiar with. Wake up late, eat a greasy meal, drink plenty of water. Use ibuprofen so you can be halfway functional.

As his bacon sizzled in the pan, he checked his phone. He ignored the text from Connor, instead finding an email from 1-800-4NUT’s scheduling team. “Ah, Christ--” He opened the email.  
  
_Hello Hank!_ __  
__  
_We noticed you weren’t on your line last night and we wondered what happened. Please let us know your reasonings for your lack of availability. If you miss another day, we will need to discuss changing your schedule._ __  
__  
Thank you!

 _4NUT_ _  
_ _\---------------_

 _1-800-4NUT, always coming, never going!_ _  
_ Est. 2009

Hank flipped his bacon over as he reread the email. “Changing your schedule” essentially meant having your hours cut completely. It had happened to Hank before, but surprisingly not for more than a year. What with not having a social--

Hank stopped the thought, responding to the email.  


_Good afternoon,_  
  
_My sincerest apologies for not notifying anyone on the team about last night. To not get into too many details, I had a rough go after some bad seafood._

_However, I will be available to work all my nights this week, including Saturday._  
_  
Thank you for reaching out._

_  
_ _\- Hank (line 6)_

Fuck, the corporate world had gotten their hooks into him. Professionalism, apologies. Hank locked his phone, tossing it on the counter.

His bacon and eggs were a little over done, and his coffee tasted like jet fuel, but it helped with his still uneasy stomach.

As he nipped at his coffee, he glanced over at his phone, still at the counter. Taunting him. _I could just send a text. It’ll be fine_ \-- Hank thought this, but he didn’t get up from the table.  
  
The phone stayed at the counter until the night time, and even then, Hank used it to set his alarm for tomorrow.

\--

_Good night, Hank._

\--

_Good morning, Hank! Have a good day at work!_

\--

Connor closed out his messages and finally got out of bed. He hadn’t heard from Hank since Saturday evening. He reasoned that he could have lost his phone, or something. Maybe it fell between the dreadful spot of the gear shift and the driver’s seat. Maybe it’s malfunctioning. Maybe Sumo ate it. Maybe he needs to replace the battery. Or, maybe...he’s ignoring Connor.

In his line of work (and, well, his programming), Connor was used to determining the most obvious reason. Occam’s Razor, always. In his personal life, with human unpredictability, it was harder for him to determine reasonings.   
  
That, or he hated to think the reason was that Hank really _was_ ignoring Connor.  
  
He pulled on his work slacks, finally ridding himself of the CyberLife-issued denim and blazer combo. Markus finally leveled with him shortly after he got hired as a detective. “People aren’t going to take you seriously with your blazer reading ANDROID printed across the back. I mean, the front lists your _serial number_. Connor, you are way more than your make and model.” After the pep talk, Connor consulted him for work attire, not understanding the intricacies of fashion like Markus did. He knew how he _liked_ clothes to fit, he knew the material he liked, being obsessed with the feeling of certain fibers, but he wasn’t sure how to make things _go_ together.  
  
Markus, besides being his literal savior from his fate as a machine, was a savior for his wardrobe. He picked out a plain button-up shirt, skipping on the tie. He didn’t even button up the top button, feeling dangerous.

He pulled a light blue sweater over his dress shirt and tied up his loafers. Before leaving his place, he gave his succulent some water. He patted the top of the plant and said, “I’m leaving for work.” Maybe it was pointless to talk to it, but he liked to do it. And, if plants had feelings, Connor reasoned that it would appreciate it too.

The Detroit rush hour hadn’t yet started. It was just after 7 am, with some twenty minutes for Connor to commute. He took the subway, same way as he did each morning. He stood near the door, gripping the handlebars as he looked out the window. Sometimes he people watched, but a couple weeks ago someone got pretty in his face about “staring.” Even though he’d come a long way in understanding humans, there are some things he will probably never understand. And vice versa.

Very few people were at the office this early, save for the skeleton crew that worked third shift. Connor enjoyed this silence; it helped him adjust himself to focus on the day. Detective Reed wouldn’t come in until around 8:30, which gave Connor an hour of silence. He double checked his notes on open cases, checked his voicemail and emails, and finished up files to give to Reed to look over.

It was good, being busy.

And not thinking of Hank.

He opened his messages just to make sure Hank had not sent him anything. Only the messages he sent were visible. They both indicated that they were received, which knocked out a couple of his theories. Still a chance that Sumo ate his phone, though.

Before he knew it, Gavin arrived and dropped his coat and messenger bag at his desk. “Morning, tin can.” He greeted, coffee in hand. He still had his aviator glasses on.  
  
“Good morning, Gavin.” Connor remained resolute, continuing to look at his computer screen as if his emails were the most important thing in the world. He turned off his hearing functions as Gavin stated to talk, expecting only complaining. Eventually, he reached over the screen, snapping his fingers in Connor’s face.  
  
“Hey, did you fucking hear me?” He asked. His sunglasses hung on his shirt collar.  
  
“I did. I said ‘good morning’ back to you.”  
  
He scoffed. “Not _that_ , scrap metal. Captain Fowler called us in for a meeting.”

“Oh, my apologies--”  
  
Gavin held up his hand as he sipped his coffee. “Don’t care. Let’s go.”

\--

_I have to sit outside of a suspect’s house with my partner. Wish me luck._

\--

Hank kept his phone in his coat pocket for the duration of the morning. He would rather listen to the clicks and chatter of the office than face his personal life. His phone felt like an anchor in his pocket, a constant reminder of something he desperately wanted to forget.   
  
Around 10 am, Judy stopped by Hank’s desk. “Morning, Hank.” She said curtly, checking off the gift/money list for Chris.  
  
“Judy,” Hank greeted, sending off an email before spinning his chair around. “What do you need?”

“Did you bring in your gift for Mr. Miller and his family?”

“What-- _oh_! Yeah, I did.” Saturday felt like a lifetime ago. “It’s, uh...it’s in my car. I’ll drop it off on your desk.”

“O-kay.” Judy jotted down a note on the sheet that Hank would not be surprised if it read something like “not prepared, as usual.” “Thank you, Hank.”

“Here, I’ll get it now.” Hank pulled on his coat, taking out his jingling keys.  
  
“That’s really not--” she started to say.  
  
“Nah, it’s fine, I’m already up.”  
  
He hustled out to his car, unlocking it. Sure enough, _Goodnight Moon_ was in the back seat, still in the paper bag from the book store. He reached in and crumpled up the receipt.  
  
As he locked his car back up, he put his keys in the same pocket as his phone. His willpower felt weak, just even brushing his fingers against his phone was enough for him to need to check it. He read his text from Connor earlier about his asshole partner. He started to type something up, like “good luck,” but he deleted it. He spent the next minute or so of thinking about what he could even say to explain away his ghosting tendencies as of late, but nothing was sent. No good reasonings got typed out. Hank swore, shoving his phone back in his pocket.  
  
He placed the bag on Judy’s desk. “Here you go.”

She glanced back at him. “Did you park far away? That was like, five minutes.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Look I...I couldn’t find it, but then I remembered I had it in the trunk.”

Curious, she peeked inside the bag. “Ah, _Goodnight Moon_ .”  
  
“Classic, isn’t it?”  
  
“Mm.” She said. “This is the third copy so far.”

Sighing, he asked, “Who else got him this book?”

“Carol and Stacey, although it’s not like they planned that.”

“Well, this,” he gestured vaguely at the bag, “this could be a backup of a backup. Kids can be _ruthless_ with their books.” 

Judy scrunched up her face. “I suppose.” She checked Hank’s name off of her list. “I’m sure they’ll like it a third time.”

“I’m sure they will.” Hank patted the cubicle wall before slinking back to his desk. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, of _course_ other people got it for them…” He muttered.

\--

_Hour two of being with Detective Reed in the car. Things have been...quieter than expected._

\--

Gavin parked his car appropriately far enough from the suspect’s house. No movement as of yet. Connor read and re-read the information on the suspect. The perp, a 37 year-old gas station attendant, was said to have been running a drug ring. No one had come in or out of the house in the past couple of hours. The two of them sat in silence. Connor pulled up his messages again. Nothing.

“You okay RoboCop?” Gavin asked while picking at his nails with his swiss army knife. “Been awfully quiet. Not that I _mind_ or anything.”

Connor closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. He directed his attention back to the suspect’s house. “How do you know when you’re being ignored?”

“Would right now count?” Gavin put away his knife, instead deciding to chew on his cuticles.

Shaking his head, he said, “No, I mean when you’re messaging someone.”

“Ah, you mean ‘ghosting.’”

“‘Ghosting?’”

“Yeah, it’s like when you just vanish out of someone’s life. Drop all communication. Poof.”

Connor added the word “ghosting” to his vocabulary, then he felt his temperature rise. “Why--why do humans do that?”

Gavin shrugs. “Beats me. Although I’ve ghosted my fair share of hookups.” He pulled his arms over his head, stretching. “It’s easier to just stop everything than to do that dumbass song and dance number of ‘sorry but I’m not into you!’”

“Doesn’t ghosting make it worse?”

“Nah, the communication, or well...the _not_ communicating fills in all that dramatic shit.”

Connor looked back at the house. Nothing.  
  
“Is someone ghosting you, tin can?”

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, are you back to being quiet?”

Connor, eyes focused on the front door, didn’t respond.

“Okay, suit yourself.” Gavin put the seat back. “Not like I fucking care--”

Connor jolted up in his seat. “ _Gavin_!”

“What? I _tried_ to help you--”

“No! No, the suspect is getting in his car!”

Gavin turned on his car. “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?”

They kept their distance on the suspect, staying a good four car lengths away from the vehicle.  
  
“Look, Connor, I’m--” Gavin grimaced at what he was going to say. “I’m _sss-sorry_ that you’re probably being ghosted.”

Focused completely on the mission, Connor said, “I think he might have spotted us.”

“Ah, _shit_!” Gavin turned on his sirens as the suspect burned rubber.

\--

 _After nearly three hours in a car with Gavin, we caught our suspect._  
  
\--

_I hope you’re not mad at me._

\--

_Hank?_

\--

It became surprisingly easy to close off that part of his personal life. He started leaving his phone at home. That was Future Hank’s problems. 

  
Late at night, before he drifted off to sleep, he came to terms about what he was doing. He’d think back to last Saturday, feeling Connor’s hand on his. _“You don’t have to tell me now.”_

A few times that week, Hank shouted as he reconciled with his inaction. “Fuck!” He said, rubbing his eyes in the dark until they hurt.  
  
He never had enough power in him to say, “I’m sorry, Connor,” but he sure thought of it plenty of times.

\--

_I hope there’s a reason why you’re ignoring me._

\--

_Is it because I told you that I love you?_

\--

_Please talk to me. Let me know what you’re thinking._

\--

By Saturday night, Connor was at his wit’s end. Nothing for an entire week. He started this entire journey to explore the unexplained emotions he was feeling, but this was one he didn’t want to experience. Endless worrying.  
  
He didn’t go to his apartment much, deciding to stay up and work. He started working third shift, sorting and organizing filing cabinets. Anything to put his mind off of it all.

Markus reached out to Connor earlier that night, asking if he wanted to come over. Josh finally had a night off from grading papers as a TA at the University of Detroit, so the main core of Jericho was spending some time together. “Yes, _please_ ,” Connor said, relieved to have someone else to talk to.

Connor stopped home, checking on his succulent. Thankfully, it was still kicking despite Connor not telling it his problems. Maybe the plant not hearing all the stress would be better for its growth.  
  
He made way to Markus’ house on the other side of town. Hearing the friendly chatter and laughter of his friends put him at ease slightly.  
  
“Connor, you’re here!” Markus announced as soon as he walked through to the living room. “You look--”

“Are you okay?” Josh asked, his eyes filled with concern.

He shook his head. “I’ve been....ghosted.”

“Oh, shit.” Simon muttered.   
  
“Hold on. I know about you dating a human and everything, but I thought it was going well?” Josh got up from his seat at the couch, motioning for Connor to sit down.  
  
“That’s what I thought. I said I love you to him, and...Nothing.”

“What a _fucking asshole_ ,” North spat out. “How typical of a human to take what they want and then vanish.”

“That’s harsh, North.” Josh said. Post-Revolution, they’ve been more cordial with each other, despite their differences.  
  
She folded her arms. “It’s true. I should know.”

“No one is denying that,” Markus put a hand on her shoulder. “But this seems different. There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe he’s afraid of commitment?” Josh asked.

Connor shrugged. “He’s been divorced. It’s possible that’s--”

“Of _course_ he’s been divorced.” North shook her head. “Connor, are you going to let this guy walk all over you, or are you going to ask him what’s going on?”

A lightning bolt of a thought ran through Connor’s head. “He’s working tonight. I could call his work phone.”

“You haven’t called him?”

“I’ve only sent him messages throughout the week. I figured it would be easy for him to respond that way.”

“Clearly not...” North grumbled.

“You’re not going to go home and call, are you?” Simon asked. “We’re thinking about going to that club that just opened up on the other side of town.”  
  
“I’m not--I...what’s the name of the club?”

“Circuits, although it’s for humans and androids.”

Connor turned toward Markus. “Is there a room I could use for privacy?”  
  
He smirked. “Take your pick, we have plenty.”

\--

Tonight was slow on the line.  
  
Normally, it was Hank’s busiest night, for obvious reasons. He tried, half heartedly, to get in the mood. Not so much as to get aroused, but just actually trying to _give a shit_ . It was tough. He looked over at the clock. It was only 9 pm. Hank groaned, flipping through the channels with the sound off.  
  
His phone rang. He waited a couple of rings, something about building suspense, or whatever. Leaning back in his chair, he answered. “Hi this is Hank, how can I assist you--”

“I figured since this is the only way I could talk to you while you’re on the clock.” Connor’s voice had an edge to it.  
  
Hank swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Connor, I--”

“And this way, I can get answers. You wouldn’t hang up on a customer.”

“Look, I...I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been busy _all week_ .” Connor wasn’t asking.  
  
“I...yes.” Might as well lie. It was better than the alternative.

“Is this about what happened last Saturday? When I told you that I loved--”

“Connor, you don’t have to say it again.”

“Why not? It’s true. It’s how I feel.”

Hank leaned forward, his hair falling in front of his face. “No, no, no, no. You don’t….you don’t love me--”

“I do.”

“No, you _don’t_.”

“Yes, I _do._ Why don’t you believe me?”

“You...you’ve never been in love.”  
  
“Not before meeting you, but I am now.”

Hank scratched at his scalp. He shut his eyes tightly. “You’re not.” He said lowly. “You’re not in love with me.”

“Why do you keep insisting that I don’t feel this way?”

“All I’ve helped you with is to make you come. I’ve taught you the basics of all this shit about yourself, and you’re confusing all that with love.”

There’s a pause on Connor’s end. Hank got up from his chair and started to pace around his house.

“...How can you be so sure?”

“Because...Connor, I mean. Look at _me_ , and look at _you._ ”  
  
“We’re perfectly compatible romantic--”

“That’s _not what I mean_!” Hank snapped louder than he probably should have.

Keeping a level head, Connor asked, “Do you have feelings for me?”  
  
Hank sighed deeply. “My...my feelings don’t matter in this. I know exactly what this is.”

“No, _I_ know what this is.”

“Go on, Sherlock, what have you deduced?”

“You keep bringing my newly discovered feelings into this as if I don’t know what I feel is the same as how a human feels about you. I know how I feel about you. My feelings are just as real as your own. It’s _your_ issues with yourself, not with me, that’s getting in the way.”

Hank took a deep breath. “How could I _not_ have issues, Con? I’m fuckin’ middle-aged, divorced, I have a shitty job, a shitty house, a shitty body...not to mention I’m a fucking drunk. Do you wanna know _why_ I couldn’t help you that one night you called? Because I passed out on the living room floor. Yeah, I’m a real fuckin’ catch.”

“...Hank--”

“And then you show up, some fuckin’ beautiful robot who needs to come. And you think you _love_ me. It’s all just a cruel fucking joke.”

“Is that all you think I am, Hank?” Connor’s voice became more pointed. “Do you think I’m just a joke?”

“Connor, you’re missing the point--”  
  
“I guess I _am_ missing the point. I thought you were different from all the other humans I’ve met since waking up, but I guess not. I’m nothing but a voice on a phone, or a bundle of wires, a _joke_ , to you.” Connor’s LED flared red.  
  
“No, that’s not what--”

“You don’t have to worry about hanging up on a customer now.” Connor disconnected from the call.  
  
“Oh come on, Con--Connor? _Connor?”_ Hank asked. “ _Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!_ ” He put his hands over his face, tears starting to fall. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, finally saying what he needed to say. 

Sumo sat at his feet, resting his large head on Hank’s knee.

\--

Connor exited the guest room only to find all of his friends near the door.  
  
“Hey, Connor,” Markus played it cool. “How’d it go?”

Connor pressed his palm over his LED, knowing it was oscillating from red to yellow. “It...it didn’t go well.”

“Did you break up with him?” Simon asked.

Connor blinked a few times. “I don’t--I don’t think so. I’m not sure...I hung up--” He stopped, looking at his friends’ faces. “Were you listening to my conversation?”

They all started to give a different excuse, ranging from “I wanted to look out the window,” to “I found an interesting book next to the shelf...near the guest room.”

Connor shook his head. “It’s fine. I think we should go.”

“You still...you want to go to Circuits?”

“Sure.” Connor answered, not exactly sounding sure himself.

\--  
  
After a change of clothes (“Something more _cool_ ,” Markus said to Connor), the Jericho gang got on the subway to get to the club. Connor adjusted the too-tight shirt Markus lent him, tugging it down to the waistband of his jeans.  
  
Circuits, interestingly enough, was about a five minute jaunt from Connor’s apartment. Something that Connor noted and re-noted as they walked through the booming wall of sound.

A mass of bodies, speckled in neon lights, swayed and gyrated to the beat. Connor could feel the vibrations of the music from his feet all the way to his synthetic strands of hair. The thrum of his blood pulsed through his body. This feeling felt good, in a way. His internal temperatures heated as he navigated through with his friends. “Sorry, sorry!” Connor tried to yell over the music. His vocal processors couldn’t register with all of the noise. His friends found a good enough spot to dance to, with Markus and Simon choosing to disappear into the center of the dance floor.  
  
“C’mon, Connor!” Josh shouted in Connor’s sound receptors. “Let’s dance!”

“Yeah, just follow my lead!” North shouted back. She started to move with the rhythm of the song, closing her eyes as she let go. Josh did as well, although he didn’t dance the same as North did.  
  
Connor nodded, pinpointing the BPM of the song. He couldn’t help but analyze the time signature as he tried to loosen his limbs. He swayed back and forth, instead looking out at the other people dancing.

He leaned back a little too far, stumbling into someone.  
  
“Hey, asshole!” The guy yelled. “Watch where you’re--”  
  
Connor turned around. “Hank!” He shouted. He was only greeted by the look of someone who was definitely _not_ Hank.

Not Hank scoffed, turning his back on him.  
  
Connor turned around only to find that North and Josh were gone as well. He tried to look for them, through the flashing lights. His internal temperature was rising. He went to the center of the dance floor, which might as well have been the eye of the storm.

He shouted out for his friends, not finding them anywhere. He felt a large hand on his shoulder. “Hey, who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for--” Connor looked at the man. He had piercing blue eyes just--

He backed away, weaving through the exit. His optical sensors must be malfunctioning, because all he could see (or _wanted_ to see), was a smattering of Hank.

Connor sent a message to his friends. _I’m going home. Need to reboot._

The club seemed to close in on him, all the Not Hanks piling in on him, crowding him. He managed to get out of the club, so happy to be greeted by a wide expanse of space.

“Hey kid,” a Not Hank asked on the street, smoking a cigarette. “You okay?”

“N--no, I don’t--” Connor’s thirium pump went into overdrive, his legs moving before he even directed them to.

“Hey, kid! It was just a fuckin’ question!”

He made it back to his apartment in less than five minutes.  
  
He kept his composure in the elevator, sharing the space with other androids as they got off on their respective floors. Once Connor got through to his place, he stumbled to the couch. It felt like the room was spinning. He tore off his shirt, feeling too constrained.  
  
He sent another message to his friends. _Can androids have anxiety attacks?_ He figured they wouldn’t check their messages until the early morning. He kicked off his shoes, then pressed his hands into the couch fabric. He dug at the seam on the side of the cushion, grounding him.

He needed to go into stasis; dedicating himself to work wasn’t showing itself to be a panacea for him anymore. Not like when he first started. Despite his high temperatures and the newfound emotion of _panic_ , his system slipped into a well-deserved stasis. 

His system received a message hours later.

_  
I’m sorry con_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you for all the comments and kudos, as usual!!! love y'all :) 
> 
> anyway, ENJOY

Connor woke up to a bevy of messages.  
  
_Where’d you go?_   
_  
_ We turned around and you were gone!

_I don’t think androids can get anxiety? But deviancy is weird sometimes_

_I’m sorry con_

_It was a fun night, shame you didn’t stay out!_

_Are you doing all right?_

He focused in on the text from Hank. So plain, so desperate.   
  
Connor deleted the message, despite feeling a pang of sadness as he read it over a few times. It was sent at 2:38 am. If Connor knew anything about Hank (and who knew if he actually did), he could only imagine what _else_ was happening that late on a Saturday. He blinked a few times, getting the messages out of the way.

He thought about their argument last night. Connor wasn’t sure if Hank was speaking from more than insecurity or _what_ , but he couldn’t place his reasonings. How could he have such an intimate relationship with someone but have it all crumble in such a short span of time. Were all humans like this, testy and annoyed, or was it just Connor’s influence on them?   
  
He looked over at his bedside table. The romance novel was still there, nearly halfway finished. Connor couldn’t even stand to look at the cover. He searched for the closest book depository.

\--

Hank didn’t sleep last night.   
  
Or, well, he wasn’t sure if he could count passing out on the couch as sleeping. He must have pulled something in the night, and he somehow felt even _worse_ now than he did last night. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking about the hurtful things he said to Connor. He wasn’t even sure why he did it. Or why he ignored Connor for a week, or _why_ he even asked him on a date in the first place. He deserved better, someone more capable of taking things at face value.   
  
Were they broken up? Hank wasn’t so sure. Connor was quick to hang up on him. Then again, their first phone call ended just like that. Hank dreaded to think of the hang ups as being all-too-perfect bookends for his relationship. Or...whatever his connection with Connor was.   
  
It was a weird detour in Hank’s life, that was for sure. A detour from the typical pothole-filled road leading off a cliff. This was...an oasis of sorts. Hank sighed, grabbing at his phone from the coffee table, as he reread the message he sent late last night ( _another_ reason why he didn’t sleep well...the Black Lamb bottle lying right next to his phone). “‘I’m sorry con.’” He read out loud, his voice scratchy and hoarse. Jesus, what an “apology.” Like a bandaid for a knife wound.

He scrolled further back in the messages, finding a pile of Connor’s ignored messages. Hank’s stomach tightened up, knowing it wasn’t just his system trying to expel some of the whiskey from last night. He cleared his throat, feeling his eyes tear up.   
  
He _really_ fucked up. He knew that now. Always did know it.   
  
But could he have fucked it up forev--

Hank stopped his wallowing, rushing over to the sink to throw up. Connor’s messages were still pulled up on his phone.

\--

“What happened last night?”

Connor moved a chess piece in lieu of answering.

“Connor.” Markus said, sternly.   
  
“I told you what happened. I went home.”

“You don’t want to go over the details?”

Connor was about to shake his head, then said, “It felt--it felt like the club was closing in on me. And everywhere I turned, I only saw Hank.”

“Sheesh.” Markus moved his king to Connor’s side of the board. “Checkmate.”

“You’re too good at this.” Connor said, trying to sound upbeat. It still came out sad.   
  
Markus started resetting the board. “Countless hours of playing with Carl will do that.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Well, I also have a chess program installed.”

“It’s probably second nature to you, now, isn’t it?”

“It is. Do you want to play another game?”

Connor’s eyes drifted back to his studio, the light still on. “When is your show coming up?”

“Oh, it’s in a couple of weeks. Would you like to see how it’s coming along?”

Connor nodded.

The paintings Markus has created for the show are incredibly detailed, a perfect replica of real life. Portraits, landscapes, still lifes. Everything is represented. Although…

“How are you going to make this cohesive?” Connor asked. Even though he didn’t have an art appreciation chip installed, he tried to combine the different categories of scenes together.   
  
“Simple. Each wall is going to be a different subject.”

Connor folded his arms, looking back over at the paintings. “That makes sense.”

“I still have some work to do on it, but it’s coming along nicely. It sounds like it’s going to be busy. Carl’s inviting a lot of his old friends.”

All Connor could think of was inviting Hank, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll be there.” He smiled. His gaze drifted away from Markus and back to the paintings, focusing on a still life of a bonsai tree. His smile faded.

“Look, Connor--” Markus patted his shoulder. “I know things have been...difficult for you lately. I feel partially responsible.”

“No, Markus, it’s--”

“But I gave you the number, and I’m...well, I’m sorry.”

Connor shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you did.”   
  
“Despite all of it?”

“Of course. I’ve learned a lot about myself and what I want in a relationship. I don’t know what exactly will happen with Hank and I, but…” It was his turn to pat Markus’ shoulder. “I’m glad you gave me the number.”

\--

Hank spent the rest of the day nursing his hangover. By the early evening, he was ready enough to take Sumo for a walk around the block. “C’mon boy,” he groaned, getting off the couch. Hank ignored his dog’s whines to go outside all day, but now after his second nap, he decided to indulge him. Sumo all but grabbed his leash for Hank, his tail wagging wildly.

As he walked around the neighborhood, watching the sunset beyond the modest houses, he thought of Connor. He thought of only just a few weeks ago, he was walking around his cul-de-sac, trying to find Hank’s house. Hank sighed, his mind unable to escape the memories of that date. The hands Connor put on him, the wanton gasps from him as he climaxed…

Then, he thought of softer moments. Connor resting by Hank’s side uneasily. The way Hank held him that night.   
  
It all felt _right_.

And now, _fuck_ \--   
  
Sumo started to whine, having finished up his business. Hank turned his plastic bag inside out, scooping up the mess. “Wouldn’t want Mrs. Jones to bitch to us about your shit again, now would we boy?” Sumo gave a small “boof” as an answer.   
  
He still put the bag into her trash can. _It’s a Sunday, why would she care?_ Hank thought, continuing along with the walk. He was left to his own thoughts again, his mind running through all the things he fucked up.   
  
The ghosting was at the top of the list.   
  
That, and, well, everything else.   
  
His mind couldn’t help but jump back to the big blowup he had with his ex. Both were harsh on one another, but Hank said some things that were unforgivable. He was too proud to say “sorry,” too arrogant to admit his faults.   
  
It was eight years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. And what did Hank have to show for it? How has he grown? _Has_ he grown?

These destructive thoughts circled around in his head, each step feeling like he was wearing cement shoes. One step towards getting home, one step towards the bottle. Sumo tugged at his leash, urging him to pick up the pace. “All right, boy.” He said, “Let’s go home.”

The sun had completely disappeared by the time he got back into the house. He kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, and went to the bathroom to get the residual Sumo mess off his hands. As he scrubbed away at his rough hands, he looked at the neon post-its. _Today is a new day._ He dried off his hands, surveying the notes. He focused on the smooth writing from his ex. They hadn’t really helped, now only a mockery for what his life was. With the same amount of care as defusing a bomb, he took off the notes from the mirror. He put them one on top of the other. They’d been on so long that there was some residue left on the mirror. He scratched at it with his bitten-down fingernail.   
  
He could just throw them away. That could be it.   
  
His hands suddenly felt too weak to even crumple them up.   
  
Instead of going to the kitchen, which is what he really wanted to do, he fought the urge and went to the garage. His hands scrambled for the lightswitch. The fluorescent light flickered on. Adjusting to the light, he found the box marked “divorce shit.” He wiped off the dust off the top of the lid.

It wasn’t _just_ “divorce shit.” Hardly.   
  
It was filled wedding pamphlets, photos, notes, cards, _everything_ Hank saved from his relationship with his ex. He hadn’t checked what was in here since moving into his house. So many times he resisted the urge to run over the box with his car, or to douse it in gas and light it on fire, or to take a bat to it, but he never gave into the impulsive thoughts.

And now, sitting on the garage floor, holding the remaining notes that he saw daily for _years_ , he knew why.   
  
It was all unfinished business. An open wound that would not close. No amount of rage could wipe away the guilt he had for his marriage failing. 

He put the post-it notes into the box. He looked at some of the photos, feeling tears gathering in his eyes.   
  
Hank pulled out his phone, scrolling down to his contact that just says “Ex.”

Dial tone. Dial tone.   


Dial tone.

\--

Connor got home late Sunday night. Turns out, his competitive side came back to him, challenging another few rounds of chess with Markus. They were all close games, but Markus came out on top every time. Connor wasn’t mad, though. It was something for him to focus on.

He hung up his coat and filled up a glass of water to feed his succulent. Its leaves had been getting a little wrinkled as of late, so he poured it some extra water as an apology.   
  
Setting the glass down, he looked out at the city skyline. It was relaxing, being up so high in his apartment. Away from all the noise and the commotion. In here, his little domicile, it was his new zen garden. Succulents in place of roses, appliances in place of Amanda.   
  
Well, a _lot_ in place of Amanda.

Connor turned away from the window at the thought of her. In his particularly fragile state, not dissimilar to when it was when he was on the very cusp of deviancy, thinking of Amanda right now would--

He did a stress diagnostic.  

_Stress level: 62%_

_Accelerated thirium flow._

_Internal temperatures rising._

He brought his succulent’s water glass (really, the _only_ glass in his apartment) back to the sink. Deciding to busy his hands, he scrubbed at the glass. He wiped it down, putting it back in the empty cupboard.   
  
_Stress level: 36%_ _  
_ _Thirium levels normal._

_Internal temperatures normal._

He went to his bedroom, hanging up his outfit. He inspected them for signs of any soil. A minimal amount, as expected. He didn’t do much today, but it was nice to keep his mind away from his personal life.

As he lay on the bed, the buzzing feeling in his chest returned. It hadn’t been there since Hank read the romance novel to him.   
  
The feeling almost felt foreign to him.

He stared up at the tiles, as he’d done many times before, opening his chest cavity. His hands dove in before he could consider whether or not this was a good idea.   
  
He _needed_ this, he _needed_ \--   
  
He accessed his memory banks, pulling up the file that simply said “Hank.”

The memory was crystal clear, a different quality of his memories for his most important things. Even his recordings of the zoo weren’t this clear.  
  
It felt like he was back on Hank’s couch, his hands rubbing against the rough fabric.   
  
_“It’s going straight to my memory banks.”_ He said in the memory, _“I won’t share it with anyone.”_

Memory Hank smiled, and it still felt like he was smiling at Connor _now_ . “S’that so? Well, I’ll have to put on quite a show for you, then.”   
  
Connor focused on the recording, memorizing every stroke of Hank’s hand, every time his eyes would look back over at Connor. Every time Hank would smile or run his tongue across the gap in his teeth.

His hand twisted around the wires, chasing to have that feeling flow through his system again. It had been so long, since before--

Before all _this._

_“Do ya want me to come, babe?”_ Memory Hank moaned.   


“Yes,” Connor sighed, practically at the same time his memory self did the same. “Please.” He added, desperate.  
  
Memory Hank adjusted in his seat. “Ah! Fuck!” He said as he climaxed, his head tilting back. Connor focused on the way his toes curled with the power of this orgasm, the shake of his legs, the pace of his hand.

Connor came shortly after, the video halting for a second as his systems went back to normal.

The memory continued. Memory Hank cleaned up and after much embarrassment, asked, _“Would you wanna sleep here?”_

The recording ended there. Connor was greeted with the view of his ceiling tiles. He wanted it to keep going. He wanted to go back to when everything was simple, when it was just him and Hank dating. Not this confusing mess. He blinked a few times, feeling a wetness at his eyes. Using his non thirium-covered hand, he wiped at his eyes. He examined the wetness.   
  
_Tears_.

That was a new one. Connor was surprised CyberLife outfitted him with tear ducts. Despite his surprise, it didn’t pull him away from his feelings.   
  
More tears welled up at his eyes. He closed his stomach panel.   


\--

Dial tone.   
  
“Hello?” That voice opened up a whole new chamber of feelings for Hank.   
  
“Good evening, Jen. Uh, it’s Hank.”

“Yes, I know it’s you.” She sounded distant.

Panic set in. “Listen, wait, wait, wait. Don’t hang up. This isn’t one of those calls.”

“I can tell that you haven’t been drinking. Tonight, at least.” Jennifer said in a pointed tone. Hank was too embarrassed to admit he’d called her numerous times since the divorce after a long night of soaking up all the booze he could find.

“I haven’t.” He looked over at the box. “I’ve been, uh, going through our old photos.”

Jen sighed. “Why were you doing _that_ ?”   
  
Hank laughed nervously. “I guess I’m gettin’ sentimental in my old age.”

“Hm. Maybe so.” Hank could hear the soft cooing of a baby in the background. “I’m surprised you still have all of that.”

“Me too. Well, it’s not in my house, I mean, it’s in the garage, and--”

“Hank,” she interrupted, “What’s this about? You’re calling me on a Sunday night, _sober_ , after looking through our pictures.”

“I just--” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re--you’re _what_?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m _sorry_.” A pause. It sounded like she was expecting more. “Look, I know I fucked up with you. I said a lot of shit to you that night that I didn’t mean. And, and, and--I’m not saying this for you to accept my apology, but I just...I needed to tell you, because I never did.”

There was a long pause on Jen’s end. “So...why now?” Her voice had gotten softer.

“What?”  
  
“Why _now_?”

Hank got up from the garage floor, trying not to groan into the phone. “I--I met someone.”

“Really? What’s she like?”

“Well, he--he?” He stopped, then started again. “I met an android. His name’s Connor.”

An even longer pause than before, but now with baby babbling. “ _Oh._ How did you meet?”

Hank thought for a moment, suddenly dreading to say the complete truth. Instead, he offered, “We met at work.”

“I’m happy for you.” And, really, it sounded like she was.   
  
“I think I--I _know_ I fucked it up. Just like I fucked it up with you.”

“Oh, _Hank_.” She sighed, almost exacerbated. “I doubt that’s true. When did this happen?”

Hank checked his watch. “About a day ago.”

“Connor must be one hell of an android to get someone as stubborn as _you_ to admit they fucked up.” He could hear that she was smiling.   
  
Despite it all, Hank was smiling too. “Yeah. He really is.”  
  
“It sounds like you know what to do. It took me _years_ to get an apology from you, just make sure it’s not the same for him. I’m not saying he’ll forgive you, but you know the right thing to do is apologize to him for...whatever you said. If it was half as bad as what you told me--and I sure hope it wasn’t, you should probably make a bigger statement than just an ‘I’m sorry’ message or phone call.”

He nodded, then said, “You’re right.”

She laughed a little. “Always am, always will be.” He could hear the baby start to fuss more. “I have to tuck the little ones into bed, so--”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll let you go. Thank you, Jennifer.” Hank shut off the light in the garage, heading back into his bedroom.

“Oh, and Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...I forgive you. I guess time does heal all wounds.”

Hank felt a lump in his throat. He cleared it, only eking out, “Thanks.”

“Good night Hank.”   
  
“Night, Jen.”

He ended the call first, collapsing on the bed and hiding his face in his hands. It wasn’t everything that was bothering him, but it sure was a huge fucking boulder off his chest. He didn’t cry, but breathed deeply into his hands. He could still smell the mustiness from the photographs on his fingers.

 

\--

Nearly a week and a half of silence from both Hank and Connor. Connor consulted his friends a couple of times, but they continually told Connor to leave it. “The ball is in his court,” Josh told him, always the voice of reason, “Unfortunately, you have to leave it to him. Don’t force anything.”

“Okay,” Connor said sadly. He resisted the urge to open his messages.

After a long day from work, Connor untied his shoes and put them near the door. Detective Reed was on a rampage today, having missed his promotion to lieutenant. Because of this, he took out all of his aggression on Connor. He essentially waited on Gavin hand and foot, like some sort of lowly appliance instead of a coworker.   
  
Deciding enough was enough, he sent a request to Captain Fowler to switch partners. Tomorrow, hopefully, he’ll get an answer. His stress levels were elevated, even at the sight of his tidy apartment. He did his usual routine of watering his succulent, then reading up on the latest news, and then some light cleaning. It drove Connor crazy that dust still accumulated in his space, even though he barely lived here. Where was the dust coming from?

There was a knock at his door. Three strong knocks, and then that was it. Connor looked through the peephole.   
  
His thirium pump picked up speed, his internal temperatures rose.   
  
_Stress level: 40%._   
  
It was Hank.


	13. Chapter 13

Connor turned his back to the door, tugged down his shirt sleeves and smoothed his hair back. The lock of hair that always found its way to his forehead stayed put until he turned to unlock the door.  
  
He opened it slowly, almost as if it was an illusion. He didn’t want to disrupt Hank, who was waiting patiently with his hands behind his back.

“Hank?” Connor asked softly.   
  
Hank smiled softly. “Hi, Con.” His voice was a little rough. It felt like a lifetime since Connor saw him in person. He looked well; his hair was tucked behind his ears, his beard trimmed up nicely, and...was that new cologne he smelled? It was a different scent than the one he wore when he invited Connor over to his house. Equally as pleasant.

Not wanting to give into this all so suddenly, Connor kept his door slightly ajar, the chain still on the lock. “I--I wasn’t expecting visitors.” And, really, when did he ever expect visitors?

Hank shrugged his shoulders, his hands still behind his back. There was a crinkle of cellophane with the movement. “Yeah, I...I’m sorry about the intrusion.”

“It’s okay.” But _was_ it okay? Connor couldn’t be so sure. He furrowed his brows, wondering what he should say next. “You’ve been--been absent, lately.”

Hank nodded. “I know,” he said softly enough that it was almost a whisper. “And when I haven’t been absent I’ve been--” He clammed up as an android couple walked by. “Could I come in? It would be easier if I--”

“...One second.”

Connor shut the door, then undid the other lock. He opened it up wide enough for Hank to come through.   
  
Before Hank walked in, he presented what was behind his back. He held them out for Connor to take them. “I got you some flowers. I didn’t know if you wanted roses or anything too fancy, so I got some carnations.”

Connor looked at the bouquet, at the red-orange flowers. Different enough to not be roses, to not remind him of--

“I know, I know. They’re the poor man’s roses, as they always say. Whoever ‘they’ are.”   
  
He took them from Hank. “No, they’re wonderful. I just.” He cracked a slight smile. “I don’t have a vase to put them in."

Hank sighed, definitely with relief. “I can’t believe you of all people don’t have a flower vase.”

“Why would I? No one has ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Because!” He gestured to the succulent by the window. “You have your pet plant over there, and...I don’t know!”

“Do _you_ have a vase, Hank?”

“I did until Sumo knocked it over years ago. Never got around to replacing it.” He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t get flowers very often, either.”

“...I have a water glass I could put them in.” Connor unwrapped the cellophane package and got out the glass.   
  
Hank went over to join him in the kitchen area. “Wait, wait. It comes with this little package of nutrients, or chemicals, to help the flowers last longer.” He fished out the small packet from the wrapping as Connor filled up his glass.

Hank opened the packet and mixed the concoction into the water. “There we go.”

When the bouquet was placed inside the glass, the water spilled onto the counter. Hank used his sleeve to wipe up the mess. “Shit, sorry.”   
  
Connor grabbed a kitchen towel. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I got it--” The flowers tipped off the counter, the single glass shattering on the tiles.

“Fuck,” Hank cursed, “Here, stay back, there’s broken glass!”

Connor removed his skin projection on his hand. “Hank, you do realize that _I_ should be the one cleaning it up.”

Hank was already kneeling on the floor. “It’s my gift for you, you shouldn’t have to--”

Connor crouched down, swiping up all the glass into his hands. Luckily the shards were large enough for Connor to sweep up all in one go. He tossed the glass into the wastebasket (something he only had to empty once a month, if that).   
  
Hank delicately picked up the flowers from the floor. “Well,” he gathered them up together with a fist, “Looks like I need to get you a vase.”

Connor wiped down the floor again, ensuring the shards were all picked up.

“Are you doing anything right now?” Hank smiled in a goofy way, still holding the flowers.   
  
Feeling the buzzing return in his chest, he replied, “Let’s go get a vase.”

They left Connor’s apartment, Hank leaving the flowers behind. “I do hope you actually like the carnations.”

He didn’t understand humans’ obsession with roses. Same with diamonds, as they go hand in hand at arbitrary times of the year. “They’re very nice flowers, Hank. Thank you.”  
  
As they walked down the hallway of the apartment complex, Hank said, “I couldn’t remember the number of your apartment. It took a few wrong tries before I got to yours.”

“I hope no one caused any trouble for you.”

Scoffing, he said, “No trouble at all. ‘Sides, I can take them.”   
  
They got to the elevator doors. Connor pushed the ‘down’ arrow. “I’m sure you can.”

“Is that sarcasm I hear? You don’t think I can pull my own?”

As they stepped in, Connor gave a sidelong glance back at him. “I’m not saying that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Mean-Green-Killing-Machine.”

He clicked the first floor button. “I’m not green in any sense, but...yes.”

“Turn of phrase, Con.”

“Hm. Noted.”

A lull. There’s beeps from the elevator.

“Do we have to drive?” Hank asked. “Cause, uh, the flower shop I got the carnations from is like twenty minutes--”

Connor shook his head. “There’s a shop in the mall that sells glassware, if that’s all right with you.”

Hank shrugged. “Lead the way.”

As they walked around the public square, watching people toting bags, feeding pigeons, and taking pictures, there was a sense of calm in Connor’s system. It was a different kind of buzzing feeling in his chest, but it was all the more inviting. He tentatively took out his hand, reaching for Hank’s. He took it without hesitation.   
  
Connor removed his skin, interfacing with someone that can’t do the same. Hank squeezed his hand tighter.

Looking around at the shop, sparsely decorated with elegant vases and dishes, Hank said, “Y’know, when you said there was a ‘glassware’ shop nearby, I had something _much_ different in mind.”

“Like what?” Connor asked, eyeing the intricate detail of one of the dishes.

“I don’t know, maybe...something like a headshop, or something.”

Connor turned to look at him, waiting for an answer.  
  
Hank waved his hand at the comment. “Uh, I’ll tell ya later.”

Connor turned back around, fluttering his eyelids as he searched his databases for the term. “...Oh!”

“You looked it up?”   
  
“Why did you think we’d go to a place like that, or how would I even be aware of such a thing!” Connor wasn’t annoyed, more perplexed than anything.

Hank laughed. “I don’t--I mean. _Look_ , they legalized it twenty-something years ago, I dunno--”

Making a face, Connor went back to look at the vases. Hank stood idly by, trying not to worry about the prices.

After some time, Connor went over to Hank with a modestly sized (and priced) vase. “I’ve made my selection.”

“You’re sure? You can choose anything in here, you know.”

“ _Hank._ I monitored your heart rate as you looked over some of the other prices. But that being said, I like this one the most, regardless of the price.”

It was a nice vase. A light blue color to the glass that gets more clear as it opens at the top. Hank didn’t exactly have an eye for things like this (hell, he had his ex’s best friend go engagement ring shopping with him), but even he could see the beauty in it.  
  
Hank, while waiting for the vase to be properly wrapped for the walk home, leaned over and whispered, “You can really monitor my heart rate just by looking at me?”

Connor nodded. “I can tell right now your heart rate is normal. You’re calm.”

“If I don’t think about it too long, maybe I’ll stay that way.” He patted Connor on the shoulder.

\--

By the time they got back to Connor’s apartment, vase in tow, the sun had set. Connor unlocked his door, flicking on the bright overhead light. Hank blinked to adjust to it, then set the vase down on the counter.   
  
Connor took the vase, filled it with the appropriate amount of water, then stuck the flowers in. Even in the some hour or so they were out, the petals had started to wither slightly. Hank, taking note of this, said, “The water will perk 'em right up.”

Nodding, Connor carried it over to the window and set it right near his prized succulent. He adjusted the space near them so the flowers wouldn’t give the succulent any shade. He fussed with it for a moment until Hank also stopped over.   
  
“What do ya think?” He asked.   
  
“I think they look fine here, although even if they didn’t I would not have another good place for them.”

Hank laughed. “The joys of apartment living.”

The two of them looked at the plants, then Hank cleared his throat. “Connor, I--” He motioned toward the couch. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Okay.” He sat on one end of the couch, resting up against the armrest. Hank took the other side. No matter the space and the distance they wanted between them, Connor’s couch was still a loveseat. They sat, staring at each other, knees slightly touching.   
  
Hank sat up a little. “I wasn’t expecting the whole flower thing to go on for so long.”

“Neither did I, although I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah.” Hank ran a finger along the back seam of the couch. “I was--I don’t know where to start.”

“From the beginning?” Connor offered.

Taking a deep breath, Hank started. “I’m...I’m so sorry, Connor. Sorry for ignoring you, for not validating your feelings, for--for--” His voice trembled. “For fucking it all up.”

“You didn’t--”

“I _hurt_ you. And I know I did.” He put a hand on Connor’s knee, gently. “I’m sorry I called you a joke. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Connor didn’t say anything. His head was turned away just enough that he couldn’t see what color his LED was.

He pressed his fingers into Connor’s knee, which didn’t offer the fleshy give of a human’s. “I know now why I said all that shit. I...it doesn’t excuse it, but...I thought it would be easier to push you away than to let you in.”

“...Hank.” Connor placed a hand on Hank’s. Hank could see the yellow glow of his LED.

“I’m...I said everything and fucked it all up because...I think, deep down…” He sighed, then gulped. “I think I’m in love with you too.” He lowered his head just enough to not have to look at Connor as he waited.

A pause.

A longer pause.  
  
Hank finally looked up, to find Connor leaning forward slightly. His hand was glowing. “You--you do?”

Hank smiled, tears developing despite (or because of) the relief he felt. It felt liberating to finally face it.

“Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”   
  
Connor grabbed either side of Hank’s face, pulling him into a hurried kiss. They were holding each other, Connor practically crushing him. Hank couldn’t stop kissing him, not that he ever wanted to stop.   
  
They did, eventually. Resting their foreheads on each other, Connor placed a hand against Hank’s heart.   
  
“Promise me,” he said, pressing his hand against Hank’s chest a little more.   
  
“What is it?”

“Promise me you’ll tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I can’t say I’ll get over my mountain of baggage in one night, but I can promise ya I won’t do what I did a few weeks ago. If I do that again, you have every right to break up with me and then arrest me.”

Connor made an amused noise. “I don’t think being emotionally irresponsible is an arrestable offence.”

“It isn’t? Well, you can throw the book at me anyway.” Hank placed a gentle kiss on Connor’s temple, his LED glowing bright blue.

They sat on the couch, holding one another. Hank brushed his fingers against the back of Connor’s neck, dangerously close to his port. _Not now,_ Hank thought. _Make up sex will be later._ He moved his hand up further into his hair, fingers raking through the synthetic strands of hair.

“...Oh!” Connor leaned back. He just remembered.  
  
“What is it?”

“Do you want to go see an art opening this Saturday night?”

\--

Once again, Hank found himself wrapped in a towel, completely unsure of what to wear. “What the _fuck_ do you even wear to an art opening?” He asked aloud.

Hank tried to think of the art kids he saw in college before he dropped out. Surly, had fun hair, wore incredibly colorful clothes...

Hank looked back through his closet. He picked out the loudest print he could find; a teal paisley shirt. And it still fit, thank fuck. He pulled on some dark-wash jeans and his tan corduroy jacket. He pulled the sides of his hair back, tying up a little ponytail of sorts.   
  
He assessed his look in the bathroom mirror. “Good enough.” He said. After dabbling on some new cologne and slipping on his nice shoes, he was ready to go pick up Connor.   
  
During the drive to Connor’s apartment, Hank thought about who will be there at the opening. Some artist named Carl Manfred will be there, along with his...son? Adopted android son? Markus, who was hosting the show. Connor mentioned him a few times in passing, but nothing more than that he was an artist. All of Connor’s friends will be there. In a way, it was almost like meeting his family. Hank turned on some classic rock to not get too deep in his head.

He got to the apartment around 7:30, but the actual opening reception was at 8. “Parking’s going to be a nightmare,” Hank said to Connor a few days previous. “Even if there _is_ a valet.”

Connor was waiting right by the side door, dressed smartly in a casual suit. It was a midnight blue, suited perfectly to his measurements. Hank felt heat creep up his neck, unable to believe he was dating someone so beautiful. On top of that, someone who actually gave him the light of day in the first place. 

“Good evening, Hank!” Connor said as he got into the car. He have Hank a peck on the cheek, then another, and then one more for good measure. “You look nice.”

Hank smiled warmly. “Thank you. You as well.”

Connor unbuttoned the blazer for comfort. “Markus insisted on having this suit made for me. As a gift, of sorts. Although, really, I should be showering him in gifts.”

Hank pulled back onto the busy street. “Why’s that?”

Connor looked out the window, his yellow LED reflecting on the glass. “Lots of reasons.”

A pause. “Such as…?”

“He’s the reason why we met.”

“Are you serious?”

“Many months ago, I told him I was having these... _feelings_. Sexual desire, human connection. And he gave me your job’s number.”

“How the hell did he know about it?”

“Leo Manfred, Carl’s biological son, used it from time to time.”

“Huh, name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Connor thought for a moment. “I _think_ he’s straight, so he was probably talking to women.”

“Makes sense. I can’t exactly sound ladylike on the phone anyway.”

Connor looked back out the window. It was starting to rain. “Markus is...he’s also the reason why I feel all of this.”

“Did you two have a fling?”

“Oh, no. Not like that. I...he...he made me or, I should say, _helped_ me, go deviant.”

Hank turned on his windshield wipers. “Really?”

“Yeah, I...I was supposed to go to the deviant hideout called Jericho and neutralize the leader, Markus.”

“Shit, Connor--”

“I had my gun pointed at him, and he...he helped me break through.”

“Friends forged in fire, huh?”

“I suppose so. I really owe him my life. He _saved_ me. And because of him, I got to meet you.”

Hank scoffed. “Yeah, and save your kind and grant peace to the nation, but--”

“Well, that too! I helped in that aspect, but Markus and the rest of Jericho are the ones to thank.” Connor put his hand on Hank’s leg. “I meant that, though.”

If it were even a few months ago or even _weeks_ ago, Hank would have laughed that off, denying it the entire time. But Hank knows that what Connor said was true. He took one of his hands off the steering wheel and placed his hand on top of Connor’s. “Well, if we’re getting touchy-feely, then…” He coughed, embarrassed.   
  
“Remember what we talked about a couple days ago.” Connor said firmly, but not aggressively.

When they got to a stoplight, Hank glanced over at Connor. Connor, with the brown eyes that Hank could just dive into. He realized, now, that he really _could_ tell him all of his secrets.   
  
And he was going to.

“You...you saved me, Con.” The light turned green. Hank turned his attention back to driving. “Look, I was just...some fuckin’ nobody that was going to rot away in his cubicle. But I met you, and you...fuck, maybe this is too much.”

Connor said nothing but gripped at Hank’s leg, an encouragement to continue.

“Okay, uh--” Hank blinked a few times to try not to tear up. He was right when he said to his ex that he was getting sentimental in his middle age. “I don’t know what you saw in me, or, even now, what you see in me, but I’m just happy you do.” He sighed, practically whispering, “You taught me I could love again.”

The gallery was only a couple of minutes away, and the two of them spent the rest of the ride pitter-pattering of the raindrops on the roof of Hank’s car. 

\--

Thankfully, as it was to be expected, there _was_ a valet service. Hank tossed his keys to the valet. “If it doesn’t sound like it’s gonna turn over, just tap the gas pedal a couple of times.” He said to the man before joining Connor inside.

“I would say I’m worried about my car, but...I can’t say I have any valuables.” It felt weird not having his keys shoved in his jeans pocket. It was almost kind of nice.

“I’ll wait in line to check us in.” Connor offered. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll wait with you here.” Hank patted Connor’s shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Connor smiled. “Not at all, Hank.”

Soon enough, they were at the front of the line. “Connor, with a plus one.” He said to the android at the booth.   
  
She scanned through the list. “Ah, I have you two checked in. Sir--” She directed her attention towards Hank. “Would you like to use your two free drink tokens?”

“I--” he looked at Connor. There was a slight worry in his expression. He’d been keeping his drinking under wraps, limiting it to two drinks, if any, a night. Baby steps. “Nah, that’s okay.”

“All right, just follow through the double doors. Enjoy your evening.”

The exhibition wasn’t what Hank was expecting it to be. It was a lot less...frou frou, but still very trendy. Lots of androids and humans mingling, discussing the art. Music, much like techno, played softly in the background. And, strangely, Hank didn’t feel underdressed or out of place.

“What’s interesting is that Carl Manfred’s style is more abstract, whereas Markus has taken the approach of basing his art in reality.” Connor explained as they walked along the large gallery.   
  
This was to Hank’s benefit. He could easily see the talent in realistic art. He especially loved the large portraits of different figures in Jericho.

“What do you think?” They heard a voice from behind them. It was Markus.   
  
Now _I feel underdressed_ , Hank thought, looking over Markus’ bespoke suit. Tailored within an inch of its life, but it was incredibly made.   
  
“Oh, Markus!” Connor exclaimed. “This is--"

“Hank.” He held out his hand. “I’ve heard _a lot_ about you.”

Hank smiled, taking his hand. It felt different from Connor’s. “Good things, I hope.”

Markus shot a glance at Connor, then grinned. “Mostly.”

“I’ve gotta say, I’m not much of an art person, but this is…” He took a moment to look back at the large painting labeled “Josh.” “This is incredible.”   
  
“Thank you, Hank. If you want to buy any of my paintings, all proceeds will go to the Detroit Homeless Shelter.”

Connor monitored Hank’s heart rate, just as a curiosity, as he looked at the price. It was double his yearly salary. “I--I don’t think I can--”

Markus held up his hand. “Don’t worry, there’s also a donation box near the hors d'oeuvres.”

Hank breathed a sigh. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Laughing, Markus said, “You two enjoy yourselves, all right?”

“We will!” Connor said.   
  
As Markus walked away to talk with other patrons, Hank huffed out, “Nice meeting you!”

A while later, Hank moseyed on over to the food table. He figured it would be more safe than finding his way to the cash bar. After shoving a twenty into the donation box, he watched the party as people moved around the paintings.  Connor was off talking with some work colleagues, so he figured it would be better to devour a few macaroons instead of standing watching his boyfriend talk shop.

Huh, _boyfriend._ He didn’t mind the term.

Someone sidled up next to him. “Hank, is it?”

He turned to see a woman with her auburn hair curled, her LED peeking slightly through the strands. She was dressed in a black dress with a slight slit at the hem.

What _was_ it with Connor having incredibly well dressed friends?

“Who’s asking?”

“ _I_ _am_.” She stared him down. Hank backed up half a step, a little nervous. “North.” She held out her hand, face going a little softer than before.   
  
“Nice to meet you, North.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Seems like everyone has.”

“ _A lot_.”

Hank looked for Connor, who was still engrossed in his conversation.  
  
“Can’t imagine they’ve all been good.”

North shook her head. 

“Look, I’m not sure what you’ve heard but Connor and I--”

“I know that you and Connor are back together, and I’m happy for him. But.”

“But what?”

North got a little closer to Hank. “If you hurt Connor again, I’ll break your kneecaps.”

Hank gulped, waiting for her to crack a smile. She didn’t.   
  
“Are we clear?”

“Uh, yeah.”

 _Now_ she smiled. “Good. Enjoy your evening.” She walked away, heels clacking on the tiled floor.

Connor came over a bit later. “I see you’ve met North.”

“She threatened to break my kneecaps if I treated you like shit again. Did she really mean that?”

Connor wiped some macaroon crumbs from Hank’s beard. “...Yeah.”

“All the more reason _not_ to treat you like shit, I suppose.” Then, after a moment, he said. “I like her.”

Connor smiled in a worried way. “You... _do?_ ”

Hank shrugged. “She’s got gumption. And a lot of anger, not unjustified, but... _gumption_.”

“Okay, Hank.” Another time humans didn’t make sense to Connor. The list kept growing.

Connor introduced Hank to a few more friends and colleagues, and the rest of the evening went smoothly. By around 11 pm, Hank’s feet were starting to hurt in his dress shoes. He had only wore these shoes on his wedding day, and maybe for his first day of work. Stiff leather.

“Would you mind if we left soon?” Hank asked Connor quietly. They’d been standing in a circle with Markus, Josh and Simon, discussing philosophy. Something Hank couldn’t be less interested in, but he smiled politely and interjected when he could.   
  
“Ten minutes, okay?” Connor placed a hand on Hank’s chest.

“Hank,” Simon jumped in. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you told Connor you love him?”

Markus lightly elbowed Simon in the ribs. “Si!”   
  
“ _What?_ You wanted to know too--”

“You can ignore them.” Josh laughed.  
  
Hank was blushing, but he said, “No, it’s fine. I--I did tell him.”

The group did a little cheer as Connor seemed to shrink a little out of embarrassment.

“We’re happy for you two. All of us! Even North, who’s around here somewhere--” Simon craned his neck around to find her. No such luck.

“I’m glad you all are.” Hank smiled.   
  
“I think it’s getting pretty late,” Connor looked over at Hank. “Should we head out soon?”

Hank checked the watch on his phone as if he hadn’t been checking it for the past twenty minutes. “Oh, shit! _Way_ past my bedtime for an old fuck like me.” He joked, but he could tell the Jericho crew weren’t sure whether they should laugh or not.

They said their goodbyes and waited for the valet to pull around. “Did you have fun?” Connor asked.   
  
“I did, although I still don’t know shit about art.”

“It’s okay. I don’t really, either.”

“ _Really_? You seemed so confident in telling me about the portraits!”

Connor shrugged. “I only told you what I observed.”

Hank leaned his head on Connor’s. “Well, ya fooled me.”

“Deception is key.” Connor mused.   
  
The rain was starting to pick up again. Hank wrapped an arm around Connor.

“I know this is forward--”

“ _Nothing_ is forward in this relationship anymore. What is it?”

“Could I...could I spend the night?”

Hank laughed. “Course you can, Con. Sumo will be happy to see you. He missed you!”

“And I missed him!”

Hank’s car pulled up to the curb. The valet got out and tossed him the keys. Hank, being smooth, caught them with his other hand. 

“Ready to go home, Con?” He asked before even realizing what he said.

Connor looked up at him and smiled, his LED glowing blue. “Absolutely.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here we are. at the finish line. I still have another (explicit) sidestory to write for this AU, so look out for that!
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their comments, kudos, art(!!!), words of encouragement, and so on. My heart is very full!
> 
> All right, let's get to the story! ENJOY

_ A few months later…  
_

__

“Hey, Connor!” Detective Tina Chen called out to him as he was gathering his things. He’d been reassigned to her a couple of months ago after Connor explicitly stated to human resources that he and Detective Reed...were not working out. After some finagling, Fowler obliged and switched him to Chen.    
  
To say it was an improvement would be a massive understatement.    
  
Tina was in control, but not bossy. She kept her personal conversations to a minimum, her music in the car low, and her offhand comments nonexistent. It was amazing to Connor that she shared her lunches and breaks with Gavin, although he didn’t bother asking her.    
  
“What is it, Tina?” Connor asked, pausing in getting everything organized for Monday morning.    
  
“A few of the other officers are gonna go out for drinks, do you wanna join us?” She fully knew Connor was an android and couldn’t partake, but she always extended an offer at the end of the week. Connor opened his mouth, but Tina answered before he could ask. “And  _ no _ , Gavin won’t be coming.”

Connor checked over at the clock. It was nearing 6. “Thank you for the offer, but I will have to unfortunately decline. I’m going over to Hank’s for the weekend. He’s expecting me soon.”

Tina made a sly face. “Well, then, I won’t  _ impose _ . He should come out to drink with us sometime, though! I’ve heard enough about him!”

That wasn’t necessarily true. From their first day, she casually dropped, “I’ve heard from Reed that you’re seeing someone.” And Connor gave Hank’s name and how long they had been dating. Other than that, the two of them were professional. Truth be told, Connor had shared more of his personal life than her own. It worked for them.

“Actually, Hank is--” Connor stopped himself, not needing to air out Hank’s problems to his co-worker. He’d just earned his 30-day chip recently. “I mean to say, I’ll ask him sometime.”

Tina gave a smile. “Some other time then. Have a nice weekend!” She slung her purse over her shoulder and left Connor to himself.   
  
\--

Connor arrived at Hank’s house nearing 6:30. He unlocked the door quietly, carefully tiptoeing his way through the house. Sumo was in the bedroom, lounging on the bed. His ears perked up when he saw Connor pass, but it was an expected sight for him. He fell back into a fitful rest. He got to the door to enter the garage, finding the expected note  _ RECORDING,  _ which was scrawled in Hank’s handwriting.

Connor turned the doorknob slowly, opening it carefully. Thankfully, Hank had taken some WD-40 to the hinges, making Connor’s sneaking that much easier. Hank was facing away from Connor, pressed between makeshift walls of soundproof foam. It was smaller than a bathroom stall, not that Hank needed the space. He sat on a folding chair, reading off his phone. As Connor got closer, he heard the very smooth dulcet tones of Hank...   
  
“‘ _ Sarah reached down the front of Jacob’s trousers, finding his hard prick. He moaned at the light brush of her fingers, canting his hips forward. Just as fast as she had touched it, her hand retracted from his tight cotton pants. Watching the desperation form on his face, she gave in to her desires as she reached down once more…’” _

Connor sat in the folding chair provided for him just outside of the “recording booth.” Sometimes, when it had been a while since he or Hank messed around with his wires, he would covertly open his chest panel as he listened to Hank read the purple prose. It was a lesson for Connor in silence; in shutting off his vocal components as he reached climax.    
  
It had been a while since he’d done that, but instead he just sat and listened until Hank was done recording the chapter. Soon enough, he heard the click as the mic switched off. 

“What do you think?” He asked, peeking out from the foam barrier as he adjusted his reading glasses. He always asked Connor for pointers, as if Connor would have anything negative to say about Hank’s voice. 

Connor sat up in his chair, hands moving away from the ridge of his chest panel over his dress shirt. Although he hadn’t planned on doing anything, his fingers still found a way back to it. The magic of Hank’s voice, he supposed. “It sounded great!”

Hank adjusted his glasses. “You don’t think I put too much emphasis on the phrase--” he looked down at his phone “--’quivering womanhood?’”

Connor thought a moment. “No, I didn’t feel it was too out of place.”

Hank sighed out of relief. “Oh  _ good, _ when I did my test run of that phrase I couldn’t help but over enunciate it. Not every day you hear _ that _ in a romance novel...”

“How far are you through the book?” Judging from the characters, it was a new one in comparison to last week.    
  
“‘Bout thirty percent. No fucking just yet.” Hank scratched at his beard. “If Derek will continue to let me work four tens, I’ll be done with it in a couple of weeks.” Hank, up until now, had recorded three different romance novels. Connor helped in patching and matching the audio levels, snipping any hiccups in the recording, before sending it off for approval. He wasn’t one to check on numbers, but his new foray into erotic audio books had been pretty successful.    
  
Successful enough that he quit his job at 1-800-4NUT. He’d been toying with it even before he wanted to do this. It was hard to have a social life and be tied to his second phone. That, and he wondered if phone sex counted as cheating. It was something Hank had never brought up, but the weird misplaced guilt started to interfere with it. 

“Oh, I hope he does.”

“Ah, who knows with him.” Hank shook his head, putting down his phone. He stood up from his chair, stretching. Connor’s eyes couldn’t help but guide down to the peek of Hank’s tummy as he stretched. His shirts have been fitting slightly looser, what with the not drinking, but to Connor's happiness, the tummy was only a little less round. “How was work?” He asked through a yawn.

Connor shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”

“No high speed car chases and shootouts?”

He smiled slightly. “Not today.”

“Shame.” He grabbed his phone. “Hey, how’s the carnations doing?”

“Surprisingly, the carnations have held up well in the past few months. I’ve been nurturing them every day and keeping an eye on their petals.”

Hank smiled.  _ What a metaphor. _ “I’m glad to hear that.” A pause as he thought of the bright carnations situated right next to the sturdy succulent. “Hey, let’s get out of this dungeon, all right? M’all done here.” He killed the overhead light and shut off the recording equipment. 

\--   
  
Connor sat at the dinner table as Hank made his dinner. It was pretty simple, sauteed vegetables with spaghetti. Since patching things up with Connor, he’d gone through small but  _ important _ changes in his life. Gone were the late night binges on alcohol and take out, the passing out on the floor. Thus far it was going well.  _ Life _ was going well. Maybe one of these days he’ll do the drastic task of going to therapy, but not yet. He drank his sparkling water as he sifted the vegetables in the olive oil.    
  
“I don’t know if I told you, but at the end of next month my lease will change.”

Hank turned slightly to look back at Connor. “ _ Oh? _ What, did the landlord hike up the price?”

“No, nothing like that. I mean...my rent will be month-to-month.”

Hank smiled as he turned off the oven and placed the vegetables on top of the spaghetti. “And why are you telling me this now?” He knew why, but he wanted to hear Connor ask. He got a seat across from him at the table.    
  
Connor’s LED switched to yellow, then quickly back to blue. “I was--well, I was wondering on what you thought of me, maybe, moving in sometime after my lease changes?”

Hank took a bite of green pepper, humming around the crunches of the vegetable. It gave him some time to feign deep thought.    
  
It was too long before Connor started to panic. “You don’t have to, although I figured I should ask--”

Hank swallowed and reached his hand across the table. “I’d love for you to.”

“You--you would?”

“Of course!” He swirled his pasta with his fork. “Although it’s been quite a few years since I’ve  _ co-habitated _ with someone.”

“What about Sumo?”

Hank laughed. “He’s not the same as a person!”

Connor looked behind him to see if Sumo was offended. He was still asleep.    
  
Hank slurped his spaghetti. Taking a minute to chew, he asked, “Do you think you’ll move in right away?”

“That part is up to you, Hank.”

Taking a sip from his can, he shrugged. “Whenever is fine. Can you fit all of your shit in my car?”

Connor smiled. “Hank, I can fit all of my things in a  _ box _ .”

“Not your bed, though.”

“Oh, I was going to leave that there.”

“What?!”

“You  _ have _ a bed!”    
  
“What, and miss out on owning a king sized bed? I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“Your bed is comfortable.”    
  
Hank shook his head. “My bed is part of what I got from the divorce. Would you wanna sleep in the same spot my ex did for  _ seven _ years?”   
  
“It wouldn’t bother me.”

“Connor, you’re supposed to say  _ no _ .”

He made a face. A bed is a bed is a bed. Maybe it’s another one of those weird human hangups. “...I’ll have a moving truck assist, then.”

“We’ll split the bill.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Hank scraped the remaining noodles off of his plate, taking one last bite. “That’s what couples do! They split things.”

Connor sat back in his chair. Although short-sighted of him, he hadn’t thought that he’d be doing things as a unit now. It won’t just be  _ him _ , it’ll be him  _ and Hank _ .

Surprisingly, that thought was comfortable to him.   
  
\--

Hank used the bathroom later that night. As he washed his hands, he looked at the new post-its adorning his mirror, written in perfect CyberLife sans font. “I love you, Hank.” “Have a great day!” “You’re the best!”

Silly, corny messages that Connor put up months ago. Hank finally told him about the notes that his ex used to leave, and the fact that he held on for them for so long. When he woke up the next morning, Connor had gone out to walk Sumo. Hank did his usual routine, almost not noticing the notes. When he did, his heart swelled. He felt embarrassingly emotional over them, although he kept his composure by the time Connor and Sumo got back. 

These small messages made it easier to look in the mirror every time he had to use the bathroom. Sweet nothings that Hank had never addressed to Connor, although he probably knew his gratitude.    
  
When he walked out, he saw Connor looking over Hank’s movie collection. He picked out one that caught his eye. “Hey Hank, what’s this?”

_ RoboCop _ .    
  
Hank laughed. “It’s an old movie from the 80s. I’m not sure if you’d like it. It’s pretty...gruesome.”

Connor read the back of the case. “It sounds interesting.”

Hank shrugged. “All right, let’s pop it in then.”

The two of them snuggled up on the couch with Sumo at their feet. In the midst of all the gunfire and explosions on the TV, Hank leaned over and whispered, “I love you, Con.”

Connor looked back, “I love you too, Hank.”

Hank sunk further down in the couch, resting his head on Connor’s shoulder.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can also find me on twitter @loombyloom


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